


The House of Cards

by saunatonttu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, Love affairs, Multi, a whole lot of dresses, balls, copious amount of sex as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that the Kingdom of Spades has ended its fifteen-year-old isolation period, the dreadful thing called <i>diplomatic relations</i> steps in and brings a considerable number of new people into the already challenging lives of the Spades' King and Queen, Alred and Arthur, who are a couple only in name.</p><p>The King of Diamonds is a smooth-talking prick that Arthur inadvertently falls for, and that's where everything goes wrong -- or falls into right places, as the said King would say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hands dealt

**Author's Note:**

> I should note here that this fic goes to a highly questionable area of breaking the vows of one's marriage, and therefore the contents may not be appealing to some readers. I did not tag "infidelity", however, seeing how the marriages between royalty here are (mostly) loveless and based on convenience rather than genuine feeling. Thus "love affairs" seems a much more fitting tag. 
> 
> I am also not tagging all the characters that will have some role in the story; but there will be a _lot_ , as the pairing tags already suggest. The story will be relatively long and updated infrequently due to a) my other stories and b) my university classes and the accumulating stress and other issues.
> 
> The story will also attempt to offer some divergence to the otherwise strict dress-code.

In the morning of the day he first met the frivolous King of Diamonds, he had been blissfully unaware of how complicated his life was about to become. Or, rather: how much _more_ complicated it was going to be.

It was bad enough with the increased number of social events that came with the closure of the Kingdom’s isolation and opening of trade and diplomatic relations with its neighbours. Social events required energy and sociability, and the Queen had very little of either.

The whole deal was worrisome, and ninety percent of that was due to the sheer naivety and youth of their King, who was eager and smarter than people gave him credit for but still nothing but a child in terms of other Kingdoms. And thus, the Queen worried, as did Jack.

Breakfast was a surprisingly simple affair for them, informal in ways that Arthur, the Queen, knew had to be remedied once they started having guests stay overnight. It simply would not do to eat breakfast in one’s pajamas in the presence of foreign royalty and aristocrats; but Alfred was an insisted nineteen-year-old, and Arthur a little too indulgent for either of their own good, and Yao watched passively, muttering something incoherent under his breath as the tradition kept on going.

Breakfast in pajamas was not the worst of the ideas Alfred’s youth-infested brain had invented, no, and Arthur quietly feared for the day Alfred would try to bring them up to another king or queen.

He feared today, and even Yao’s indulgent hands on his shoulders did very little to ease him.

* * *

“This will not end well,” Arthur declared after the breakfast – porridge with cinnamon, which Alfred claimed to be tasteless – in the middle of a servant helping him into the dress that would suffocate him way before the first guests even arrived.

Yao, who was dutifully cuddling one of the toys Alfred had bought from the market on impulse, nodded. “With you two as the royal couple of this kingdom? I would be thankful if only one war were to break out.”

Arthur snorted without any humour. “You would appreciate the thrill war brings you, would you not, Jack?”

“Oh, you younglings and your talks about war,” Yao, the Jack of Spades, sighed with a little too much melodrama in his voice. “Those who have not experienced it know not of the pain war brings with it.”

“I suppose,” Arthur agreed, closing his as a sharp breath escaped him with the tightening of the corset. Goodness, he loathed those. _Suffer for beauty_ was such an idiotic sentiment, but for this occasion Arthur would bear with it. “Instead, I will murder the inventor of these blasted things. How am I supposed to breathe, not to mention _eat_?”

“You don’t,” Yao said and Arthur could see him smirking from the reflection of the mirror Arthur faced. “Our King would not fare well.”

“He would not,” Arthur agreed, holding his breath as the corset was properly tied from the back. “I hope others will not view him badly for it.”

“It will be fine,” Yao said, sounding tired. He had been saying this for at least twenty times in a day for the last fortnight or so. “You may be violent and completely unreasonable at times, but at least not as unreasonable as our beloved King.”

“Is that supposed to soothe me?” Arthur retorted, his thick brows knitting together as he frowned at his reflection and especially at the sight of the deep blue corset choking his midriff. “Because it does not.”

“It wasn’t meant to.” This time Yao hid his grin behind the loose sleeve of his shirt, and Arthur could only see his eyes peer back at him from the mirror. “Worry not, I grew up with small cattle of brothers and sisters; diplomacy is in my blood, my Queen.”

“Yes, but I would prefer it to be in Alfred’s,” Arthur sniffed as he was helped into the dress he was sure he would trip over; the purple-shaded blue train was much longer than Arthur was accustomed to. “When did you say the first guests would arrive, Yao?”

“Afternoon,” was the ambiguous reply he received, and the irritable Queen could not help rolling his eyes.

“So, I must suffocate in this hideous thing until then?”

“It is not _hideous_ ,” Yao rolled his eyes. “You like it, don’t you?”

Arthur focused on himself in the mirror this time, watching as he slipped into the dress with some assistance, and saw the dark blue fabric embrace his pale skin. It would have been beautiful on someone else, Arthur mused, ever so self-depreciative as he eyed his eyebrows irritably. Fucking brows ruined everything.

The black patterns of Spades’ insignia decorated the hems of his sleeves, as traditions required the royalty and aristocracy wear their respective marks to social events and such. It would make introductions much smoother, Arthur mused as he sighed, wincing as the corset didn’t quite allow the deep breath.

The train was the only part that bothered Arthur in the dress, honestly, and Yao had known him long enough to see through his awful wording.

Arthur sighed again. “Yes, you’re quite right. Did Alfred go back to sleep?”

“No, surprisingly,” Yao snickered into his hand. “He’s taking this seriously… as seriously as he’s capable of. He might be trying to argue with his tailor about his suit for the ball, however.”

“Oh, dear,” Arthur murmured to himself.

* * *

The ballroom had already been finished days ago for the event, and the servants had to make only a few adjustments while the orchestra tuned their instruments and practiced a few songs that foreign royalty would dance to. Arthur was pleased to hear the music was majorly produced in the Spades’ land rather than taken from another.

Alfred, on the other hand…

“Damn,” the young King murmured to himself as he walked beside his Queen, making rounds around the castle to make sure everything was ready. “Why does our music always sound so… depressing? That’s not cool at all.”

“You have no taste,” Arthur snorted. “Classical music always sounds like that. It’s… refined.”

“Uh-huh,” Alfred gave him a doubtful glance. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard plenty of happy classical music since we opened up the borders to merchants from the other three kingdoms.”

“Obviously _they_ have no class, then,” Arthur retorted, though he was hardly serious. Alfred’s lips had finally tugged up into a real smile for the first time since the past few days that he had been forced to start preparing for the ball.

“I don’t know, Artie,” Alfred said, rubbing his jaw with a pair of thick fingers. “I think they might be onto something out there-“

“No, they are _not_ ,” Arthur snapped, bristling when Alfred outright laughed at him. Obnoxious was what Arthur’s King was. “This ball is for us to show off the good sides of our kingdom, and you yearn for something foreign? Alfred—“

“Calm down, okay?” the King of Spades flashed Arthur a charming smile, one that showed off the dimples and freckles on his face. “You’re always nagging at me for one thing or another; just relax for once, will ya?”

“I will _not_ , not until you fix that horrid language of yours.”

“Languages develop, geesh! Get on with times, old man.” Like the mature king he was, Alfred stuck out his tongue at Arthur, the small top hat nearly falling off from Alfred’s hair with the movement. “The ball’s gonna be great, everyone’s gonna have a good time, even _you,_ my dear Queen.”

Arthur made a face at the playfully mocking tone Alfred held at the last words. “Most beloved King,” he echoed the tone, “please act more serious with your duties.”

“I am _always_ serious! Like, super-serious! Except not, because that would be boring as hell, but—“

“Of course,” Arthur said, tone as dry as the autumn leaves that had started to fall outside to fill the paths of the forest and the lawns of the castle. “Of course you are, Alfred.”

* * *

 

It was the first event held where all four of the Kingdoms would gather – or rather, their royalty and nobles – and it had been properly written about as such. Newspapers all around the kingdoms had hailed the fall of the Spades’ fifteen-year-old isolationism, at least that was what Arthur had gauged from the foreign papers that required too much of a gentle touch for Alfred to read.

Or was it _intelligence_ , Arthur sometimes mocked in his mind as he closed the newspaper from whichever kingdom the most recent visiting merchant had come. No, that was not the case: Alfred simply had his preferences when it came to using those ailing brains of his.

Regardless, it was a commotion unlike any other that Arthur had heard of. Spades’ own newspapers and people had joined the celebratory propaganda on what this would mean to them, to the kingdom, whereas Arthur could not help but feel like the walls were closing in on him rather than expanding further.

And then they had to hold this ball. Arthur had seen it coming, he had been the first one the nobles had raised the idea to, and there had been plenty of time to prepare for it even though handwriting each invitation for each noble and royalty had been straining both physically and mentally. That was what servants were for, he had grumbled, but _noooo_ it was in the Queen’s _fucking_ job description to write the invitations. In cursive. At least Arthur’s cursive was at the level of _exceptionally beautiful_ , as he had spent quite a number of years practicing by writing more and more, again and again, to the point where he was sure his wrist would never be the same again.

Whether or not they would manage to get through the night remained to be seen, but at least there was alcohol as well as snacks, followed by late-night dinner to those that stayed the night – if anyone did.

“You look like you’re about to pop a vein,” Alfred, by Arthur’s side (or rather, it was Arthur that stood by Alfred’s side like the good Queen he was), murmured, laughing when Arthur shot him a sideways glare. “You’re taking this far more seriously than you need to, Artie.”

“Don’t call me that in public,” Arthur jabbed at Alfred’s side, quickly smoothing the wrinkled suit jacket afterwards. Appearances were important, he reminded himself as much as Alfred.

“You are so boring,” Alfred complained, but made no fuss about Arthur’s edginess as his eyes anxiously peeked at the main entrance of the castle. When Alfred let his youthful idiocy drop, it was easy to see he was tense also – shoulders squared awkwardly within the confines of blue, smile a little less than sunny. A part of Arthur was glad: Alfred _was_ serious about this, after all.

Both of them relaxed infinitesimally when they heard the sounds from the first arriving carriages. It was a wee past quarter to four then, Arthur checked from his pocket watch he kept in Alfred’s pocket, since the dress had none. Alfred, of course, never stopped whining about that either.

The doors opened like a show was about to begin.

The beginning of a new era, and Arthur couldn’t have been more reluctant even if he had tried. Domestic matters were hard enough; foreign ones were outright maddening.

* * *

“Kingdom of Hearts,” came the over-eager, loud announcement from none other than one of the Jokers, the faithless and the mockery of the Four Kingdoms. Gilbert was his name, and he was most likely a satanic being in disguise, Arthur had thought this a long time ago. The red eyes were hardly the only feature of Gilbert that made him think so – there was also the man’s personality.

At least the other Joker, Peter, was not around. Possibly locked up in one of the dungeons in one of the noble houses for his penchant for trouble-making.

Arthur watched the Heart Kingdom’s company come through the door, quite like an army with their rhythmic, tapping steps that echoed through the first hall of the castle. _Military,_ Arthur thought, _they have had military training._ Almost all of them; there was one young man with an unnatural bounce to his step that broke the Heart nobles’ rhythm, threw it off tune.

The King of Hearts came to shake hands with Alfred, offering polite words as a greeting as his crystal-blue eyes analyzed them, platinum-blond brows slightly knitting together when Alfred returned the handshake with too much vigour. Alfred talked too fast for Arthur to hear what he had said, and – based on the baffled expression on the pale face – the King of Hearts ( _Ludwig Beilschmidt,_ Arthur remembered the name from documents and newspapers) hadn’t either.

“I apologize for him,” Arthur said as he allowed his hand to be lifted for a courteous kiss on the knuckles. Beilschmidt’s lips were cold, dry, and very awkward against Arthur’s skin. Hm.

“It is fine,” Ludwig mused, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “He is a new king, is he not? It takes time to grow accustomed to… all this.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Arthur sighed. “Let us talk more later, good King o’ Hearts.”

“Let’s,” Ludwig agreed, a hint of a cautious smile on his lips. “The pleasure would be mine, Queen of Spades.”

“Boooooring,” Gilbert whined in the background, prompting an irritable sigh from Ludwig.

“Brother, please stop ruining these events with unnecessary commentary.” Arthur found himself staring at the two with raised eyebrows, comprehension slowly dawning on him. No wonder Gilbert always had items brought from the Hearts’ kingdom specifically…

“Brother, brother!” Gilbert mocked, his silver-dyed hair glimmering under the light of the candles above them. “Why must you mock me so—“

“I must apologize for them,” the Queen of Hearts, who logically followed his king, said softly as he bowed his head and held Arthur’s hand for a quick shake. His dark eyes were polite, but avoided direct contact with Arthur’s. “Ludwig and Gilbert always… bicker when they’re around each other.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Alfred said, although he had already exchanged words with the Queen. “Artie and I are always bickering, too, but, like, we care for each other and stuff, so it’s fine.”

“Uh…” the Queen of Hearts hesitated. “I suppose it comes with all good, communication-aspiring relationships…”

“Dude, no need to be so serious.”

“I apologize for _him_ ,” Arthur winced, adding in a low murmur, “he never learned proper etiquette despite my best efforts.”

“I see.” Kiku Honda, the Queen of Hearts, smiled a little as a sliver of amusement flickered over his face.  “Ah, I do hope I’m not being intrusive, but… where are the Jack and the Ace? Are they not here?”

“They are in the ballroom,” Arthur said. “Our Ace prefers not to show his face much in events such as this, and Jack is overseeing that nothing disastrous happens with the alcohol. I trust he will be making his way to introduce himself after the first dance.”

“I see,” Kiku said again, bowing his head again. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Queen of Spades.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Queen of Hearts.”

* * *

Arthur and Alfred shook hands with several more from the Kingdom of Hearts, including their Jack, who had been the one to throw off the rhythm of their otherwise impressive march. Feliciano Vargas, or _Feli_ , as he insisted Arthur and Alfred to call him from the very start.

Alfred, of course, was infatuated with the idea. Arthur, not so much.

 _Great, another bad influence of my already rather porridge-brained fool of a king,_ Arthur mused bitterly as he got through the handshaking with Feliciano. It had only taken about… fifteen minutes, since Feliciano seemed eager to gossip and throw good-hearted insults at how gloomy the blue of the Spades’ royal clothes was.

Feliciano’s brother – at least that was what Arthur assumed from their similar facial structures and the curl of a hair that refused to be tamed – was much less likeable and much closer to Arthur’s own temper climate. It still didn’t make Arthur feel anything more than relief when Lovino went off after his “stupid little brother”.

“You feeling okay there, Artie?” Alfred managed to whisper between smiling and greeting the rest of the Hearts, whose clothes were invariably red just like their royalty’s. “You look a little sweaty.”

Arthur’s face was going to be stuck on the painfully amicable expression he was forced to wear for this occasion, but that was hardly the worst part of the deal.

“The corset is killing me,” he murmured back, grumpily enough to elicit a low laugh from Alfred. “Don’t _laugh_ , you arse!”

“You’ll live,” Alfred winked at him before turning back to the nobles, grinning a bit sheepishly in apology before his sociable nature took over again.

Sometimes, during his moments of weakness, Arthur wondered why the hell he put up with any of this. This was one of those moments, but since he had already resigned himself to basically be Alfred’s nanny for the rest of his life, he had no choice but to take a deep breath and suck it up. That was only if he could breathe properly. _Shit._

Two more kingdoms to welcome. He could do this; the hardest part would be over then, even though there was also that first dance with Alfred to dread for.

As if on cue, Arthur could hear another couple of carriages arriving to the castle’s front yard, and he squared his shoulders with the intent to smile his way through this entire thing despite how unnatural it felt. Oh, this was bloody exhausting.

“Kingdom of Diamonds!” Gilbert’s voice echoed from upstairs, and Arthur tilted his head to see Gilbert’s head poking out over the railing on the first floor. ( _Second_ , Alfred always said, _it’s the second floor!_ )

Arthur tilted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the approaching nobility and the king that led his people with self-assured steps that echoed off the stone walls. Orange-yellow clothes in a vast variety of shades gave them an almost glowing appearance, and Arthur bit at his lower lip. He could almost feel the snobbery already before any of them had even opened their mouths.

Arthur watched silently as the King of Diamonds came to shake hands with Alfred first, his colourful cape all aflutter with his movements. Blond hair, blue eyes – a stereotype of beauty, Arthur concluded. Handsome king, but the book’s contents were never to be judged by the cover.

“It is my utmost pleasure to be here tonight,” the King purred to Arthur’s, and his tone was a few degrees too warm to be purely polite. Arthur tried not to wince. _Ah. He’s **that** type, isn’t he?_

Suddenly the prospect of dancing was a lot less appealing.

“Glad you could make it,” Alfred grinned like the oblivious bloke he was. “King of Diamonds, yeah?”

“To friends, I’m Francis,” the foreign king flashed a smile that could dazzle the majority of people anywhere in one go. Arthur suppressed a shudder as he pursed his lips. “Francis Bonnefoy.”

“I’m Alfred!” Arthur looked away, embarrassed by Alfred’s eagerness. “Alfred F. Jones! It’s nice to meetcha.”

Francis’ amused laughter wasn’t in the least bit forced. “The pleasure is all mine, King of Spades.”

Arthur turned his eyes forward just in time as Francis slipped to him away from Alfred’s too tight grip, and a similar smile plastered on his lips as he made a show of taking Arthur’s hand before kneeling down and kissing the skin with soft, tender lips.

Arthur’s face heated up, either from embarrassment for the extravagant gesture or bone-boiling anger. Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish the latter from the former.

“And even greater pleasure,” Francis murmured, his eyes meeting Arthur’s. Blue eyes, a few shades darker than Ludwig and Alfred’s, shimmered with tease and flirt, and Arthur half-heartedly wished a chandelier would fall on top of him and light the glimmering blond hair on fire.

“You certainly have a way with words, King of Diamonds,” Arthur replied stiffly as the King’s lips caressed his skin some more. A simple gesture of politeness should not be so… forward. “The pleasure is all yours, I’m afraid.”

Francis, to his credit, was not daunted by the chilly words, and instead chose to pull himself up from his knee while holding onto Arthur’s hand longer than what perhaps was appropriate. “It is but a heartfelt greeting for a Queen and a King that have been isolated from us for far too long.”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said. “The Hearts have already arrived; feel free to mingle.”

“Ah,” Francis retracted his hand finally, clicking his tongue in obvious distaste. “ _Ludwig_.”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur could not help but smirk. Perhaps the Hearts and the Diamonds did not get along as well as one would expect? “Our Jack and Ace will greet you at the ballroom.”

“A good distraction, I hope,” Francis murmured, more to himself than to Arthur, before giving a courteous bow and stepping aside from the way of his wife, a slender woman named Lili.

Arthur exchanged a few words with her before she joined her husband, and he watched them go with a frown tangling on his face.

This was going to be a long, long evening.


	2. dancing queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball begins, and a fateful encounter occurs as well as lots of dancing.

When Arthur managed to sneak a peek at the pocket watch he had entrusted in Alfred’s care, it was already nearing six and, thus, the beginning of the ball. A few more hours to go and he would not have to bother with the eccentric guests anymore, Arthur comforted himself.

The guests from the Kingdom of Clubs had arrived by now as well, though Arthur half-wished they hadn’t: their king, Ivan, gave him the chills just by smiling sweetly and staring with unblinking eyes. Alfred hadn’t taken well to the first impression either, his smile having turned a tad bit forced as Ivan’s larger hand had held his for a good few minutes.

“Are you alright, Alfred?” he questioned his King softly when they got a short break from the social calls around the room, hand finding Alfred’s to give it a reassuring squeeze even though it wasn’t Alfred that needed it. But Arthur had a role to play, and so he would put on his best act. Arthur took in a shallow breath. His ribs were starting to feel sore – a bit of a lie, they had been so for a while now.

Alfred flashed him one of his brightest smiles yet. “Better than fine. I’m feeling _awesome_ –“ Arthur grimaced at the violation of their language. “—and totally ready for a dance with my Queen.”

“Don’t step on my feet this time,” Arthur said and rolled his eyes as Alfred’s hand sneaked to his waist.  Arthur shook the hand off and placed his hand on top of it, palm down, before gesturing Alfted to lead him to the open floor in the center of the room. “We’re here to make a good impression on the others, after all.”

“Please, when do I ever step on your feet, Art—Arthur?” Alfred managed to correct himself before a mistake had been made, and his following grin was toothy and child-like. It made Arthur want to pet him and tell him that he had done well.

“Only every few notes,” Arthur said solemnly, smirking a bit at the put-off expression that spread on Alfred’s face. “Give the orchestra a sign, Alfred.”

“Mmhm.” Alfred raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Somehow the gesture gained people’s attention, eyes turning towards the pair as they took their position on the center. “Time to dance, y’all!”

Arthur shook his head as he allowed Alfred to slip a hand to waist and placed his own on Alfred’s shoulder. He’d sigh, but it seemed useless at this point. “You moron.”

“You like it,” Alfred teased just as the violinist started the prelude to the evening.

*

Kings and queens danced with their respective partners for the first waltz, as tradition and code of conduct both required, and it gave Arthur to steal a peek at how the royalties of foreign kingdoms behaved. Body language was often far more revealing than actual words – it applied to dancing, as well.

Alfred’s posture was confident as he led Arthur through the waltz, but his stepping was all wrong despite the trying months of practice with Yao and dance teachers’ assistance. Arthur tried not to laugh at the deep concentration that manifested on Alfred’s face after the third time the heel of his foot had trampled Arthur’s rather painfully.

Either way, Arthur got his chance to observe others, and his gaze first flitted to the King and Queen of Clubs – a rather mismatching couple, in his opinions, what with their differences in height and build, but he supposed Elizaveta had been wed to Ivan, the king, for her fair appearance and poster-perfect smiles that made her quite appealing to peoples everywhere.

Remembering the firmness of her handshake, Arthur retracted his thought – _she’s much more than just a pretty face._ And that was what being Ivan Braginsky’s Queen needed to be, if the rumours of the man were anything to go by and if Arthur’s first impression of the man was correct.

“I don’t like that guy,” Alfred muttered when he saw where Arthur’s eyes travelled to. “He sounds like he’s faking kind words and shit.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur murmured, “he does have a disconcerting aura around him.”

Asides from the King of Clubs, Arthur found himself eyeing the pair from the Kingdom of Diamonds, if only because of their glowing-gold clothes and yellow roses that adorned the Queen’s hair and the King’s chest pocket. Francis, whose lips had softly brushed Arthur’s knuckles earlier and eyes sparkled with barely concealed tease, was in his own element, sweeping around the dancefloor with his considerably shorter partner, Lili. She was not any less graceful, however, and easily followed his lead with a small smile on her lips.

Arthur couldn’t decide what it exactly was about the King that got on his nerves and under his skin. Perhaps it was his hair – smooth and golden in appearance – or maybe it was the over-exaggerated hand kiss Francis had performed. Or maybe it was the way Francis danced like he had been born for it: movements were fluid and without a hitch, strands of hair that didn’t make it into his ponytail swaying against the frame of his face, not to mention the charming smile that was on full display for his Queen.

Arthur bit at his lower lip. Beautiful kings were notorious for being _awful_ leaders, but Francis oozed self-confidence and charisma, both which made Arthur doubt the previous statement.

Before Arthur could finish his scrutiny on the man, the first waltz was over, and Alfred heaved out a heavy sigh of relief. “Your feet okay, Artie—Arthur?”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur gave him a tilted smile, a bit of bite to his tone, “if not feeling one’s feet is classified as _okay_.”

“Artie—“

“I’m kidding; you did better than usual, love,” Arthur patted Alfred’s arm as he retreated from the floor, the back of his neck hot with sweat from the dance. “Now, go stomp on someone else’s poor heels.”

He didn’t need to look at Alfred to see the wicked grin that spread over the young king’s face. He also didn’t need to look to know that several people had already flocked to Alfred, pleading him to a dance. Arthur shook his head in disbelief as he made his way past a few groups of three or more before finding Yao, their ever responsible Jack.

Queen of Hearts was already there, a little out of breath as he sipped on the champagne servants had started serving just a little before the first waltz. His eyes flicked to Arthur briefly, head bowing into a quiet nod of acknowledgment before making room for Arthur in their circle.

“I can’t believe it,” Yao was just saying, and his face _glowed_ from excitement, “my little brother is the queen of another kingdom.”

“Wh—Pardon?” Arthur blinked, glancing between the two. “You’re the brother of our Jack?”

Kiku cleared his throat, shoulders sagging under the attention. His eyes flickered to Yao and his cheerful face. “Adopted brother… but quite a few things have changed since then, have they not?”

“They sure have,” Yao agreed, lips curling up and a touch of tenderness lingering on his face. “You were so small when you moved away, Kiku… and look at you now, all wrapped up in the Hearts’ robes.”

Kiku’s cheeks flushed pale pink as he sipped his champagne. “You needn’t bring up the past so much. What matters is the present and the present only.”

Yet, there was fondness in his tone, restrained as it was.

Arthur shifted on his feet, wondering whether he should go, eyes darting back to the dancefloor where Alfred was dancing… with the Queen of Clubs? Oh dear. He felt bad for Elizaveta’s feet, though her heelless boots sheltered them rather well.

And there was no hem or train to step on, since Elizaveta was wearing tight pants, sides adorned with the Clubs’ insignia. She was possibly the safest choice for Alfred to dance with, and Arthur smiled just a little in spite of himself.

“Ah,” Kiku murmured, regaining Arthur’s attention. “How do you wish me to address you? ‘Queen’ seems rather redundant amongst royalty, doesn’t it?”

“Arthur is fine,” Arthur said. “We do not have titles for noble families, so my current status is the only title I hold, therefore first-name basis is justifiable, yes?”

“He’s a little stiff at this,” Yao coughed to Kiku, not even lowering his voice. “I guess it’s Alfred’s – our king’s – influence, but he has become rather casual with these things.”

“ _I’m right here,_ ” Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes as Yao smirked behind his hand.

“It’s fine,” Kiku smiled at Arthur, corners of his mouth rising gently as he placed the now empty glass on a passing servant’s empty tray. “I’m glad there are these kinds of monarchies, too. Feliciano—er, our Jack—does a good job at bringing eccentric speech into our halls, too.”

“He does seem… lively,” Arthur said carefully, throwing a glance to where the Jack of Hearts was dancing with his king. Ludwig, despite his stoic façade, seemed almost flustered by Feliciano’s enthusiastic sway of hips. It was embarrassing to watch, because that kind of openness with emotions was foreign and dangerous and it made Arthur’s hands clammy and cold at the same time.

Kiku’s laughter was gentle, kind, and the definition of proper.

“That he is,” he agreed with Arthur’s estimation, and continued, “he’s one of my dearest friends in all four kingdoms.”

Ah. Arthur pursed his lips. There it was, the nasty word: _friend_. “I see.”

Yao noticed the sudden change in mood, and hurried to change the subject towards something nicer, like Kiku’s childhood and the embarrassing moments when Yao had taught him the beginnings of swordsmanship. Kiku did not approve, his brows wrinkled ever so slightly, but he allowed it, in the end, and argued quietly that Yao’s memory was faulty, that he _was_ gaining on age—

“Hello, lovelies,” came a very melodious, very _unnerving_ voice, followed by the appearance of the man adorned in gold and pale oranges. Kiku gave a courteous nod, Yao and Arthur following suit.

“King of Diamonds,” Arthur added courteously, reluctantly stepping aside to allow the king to come into their circle.

“Queen of Spades,” Francis said, lips curving into a charming smile. “May I have this dance? It seems as though the Jack of Clubs has taken it upon himself to lead your orchestra now.”

Looking towards the opening where the orchestra was located, they could see a tall man dressed in immaculate green try to argue his way into leading the instruments. Arthur grimaced as he caught a few words of complaint Roderich – the Jack with brown hair styled carefully, save for one curly hair – presented the lead of the orchestra.

“He’s always like this,” the orange-adorned king sighed as Arthur’s eyes turned towards him. “Regardless, he is an excellent lead and a violinist _and_ a pianist.”

“And this matters, because…?”

“Because you shouldn’t get the wrong image of him,” Francis said as he extended his hand towards Arthur, palm up as he bowed his head. “So, may I have this dance, dear Queen?”

“You are talking to me?” Arthur had to make sure, and cast Kiku a meaningful glance. Kiku was suppressing a smile, like Yao.

“Of course I am,” Francis sounded a bit impatient now, but his face was courteous and friendly, and it was with a sigh that Arthur placed his hand on Francis’.

“Very well,” he said, eyes half-lidded as they tried to appraise the king before them. Francis gave nothing away with his cheerful smile and an accompanying wink that, in all honestly, looked far more lecherous than what Arthur hoped it was supposed to.

If his breath felt a little short, well, it must have been the corset’s fault; what else could it be?

*

Francis was a marvelous dancer, just as Arthur had surmised from watching the man glide through the first waltz with the beloved Queen of Diamonds. What he hadn’t been able to guess from simply looking was the warmth of his hand, and how good it would feel against his waist.

“Why me?” Arthur questioned quietly, initiating conversation to distract himself as the orchestra, led by Roderich Edeslstein, began playing. “You could have asked the Queen of Hearts—“

“And miss out on getting to know you better, my dear?” Francis’ eyes shimmered and his smile widened. “I think not, Arthur.”

“I don’t remember giving _you_ permission to call me by my name,” Arthur deadpanned as he followed Francis’ lead, all too aware of the heat of Francis’ body near his own. And just because he could, he added stubbornly, “King of Diamonds.”

“Now now,” Francis laughed as he dipped Arthur. “Don’t be so cruel to the little old me. I simply wish to enjoy your company, and perhaps give you a chance to enjoy a decent dance partner every once in a while.”

“You were watching,” Arthur realized, stiffening in Francis’ hold. As ridiculous as it was, the thought of this man paying attention to Alfred and him dancing made him—irritated? nervous? Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of the tense feeling coiling and unfurling inside him, but that was greatly outweighed the sharp ache suddenly pressing into his ribs.

Arthur, at least, didn’t let his inward thoughts show on his face.

Francis had the gall to smile wider, blue eyes twinkling as they caught Arthur’s gaze and kept it imprisoned. “Naturally. You are the hosts of this spectacularly dull event, no?”

“You’re _insulting_ me now,” Arthur hissed, brows furrowing together as Francis’ face leaned closer.

“Of course, nothing quite compares to the balls at my place,” Francis purred, his breath warm against Arthur’s nose. And lips. “And it is awfully dreary here; so, you see, I must amuse myself.”

“So, I’m an amusement now?” Arthur was going to _kick_ this man in the _groin_. Even though he was an awfully good dancer, and Arthur doubted he would dance with the King of Clubs – and the King of Hearts was preoccupied by his Jack.

“No,” Francis replied at length, casual as his arm pulls Arthur closer, chest against chest. “That is what _dancing_ is; you, dear queen, are someone I’d like to befriend.”

“Befriend or sleep with?” Arthur retorted, even as his heart raced impossibly hard in his chest… even as he leaned his chin on Francis’ shoulder. “You are an awfully straightforward fellow, Francis Bonnefoy.”

“So you do remember my name,” Francis teased, lips near Arthur’s ear. His chuckle was deep, too close for comfort, and dangerously attractive. Arthur could admit that much, but— “And I really do mean befriend in the most innocent way.”

It was too easy to lose himself in the banter with Francis amidst the dance, and Arthur had to remind himself that he was not there to irritate foreign royalty, no matter how appealing that was. Breathing in, regardless of the soreness that was turning into pain, Arthur pulled back to look at Francis’ face once more as they spun around, lost in the music of the upbeat waltz.

Not quite lost in each other, however; there were barriers and boundaries that could not be crossed at this time. Perhaps never, perhaps by no one if it was up to Arthur.

“I see,” Arthur said as he eyed Francis’ smugly smiling face. “You’re trying to gain an upper hand in our relations, are you not? However, trying to charm me won’t help that goal.”

“Perhaps,” Francis said vaguely, eyelids fluttering at Arthur, “or perhaps you are just that captivating, my dear.”

To Arthur’s utmost shame, that _did_ make his chest tighten and cheeks warm. “Aren’t you a flatterer?”

“These lips never lie,” Francis said, squeezing Arthur’s fingers laced with his own. “You will learn that sooner or later, Arthur.”

“That does not sound as flirtatious as you think it does,” Arthur laughed, lips quirking up against his will, and he allowed the quick mouth-to-cheek touch that Francis initiated. It was over as soon as it had started, making Arthur doubt whether it had even happened.

“You are new to the art,” Francis insisted as the music started to fade, but his arm stayed around Arthur’s waist, fingers caressing at the blue fabric that was just a few hues darker than Francis’ eyes. “That, too, shall be fixed in time.”

“Yes, I suppose it shall,” Arthur murmured distractedly, eyes flickering around the dance floor.

“Shall we dance another?” Francis asked, retracting his hand from the other’s waist for a moment to caress the decorative blue rose tucked behind Arthur’s ear. “The night is still young, after all.”

Against his better judgment, Arthur said _yes_ – and later, he would judge himself for this precise moment of carelessness.

*

After three more dances with the irritatingly charming king, Arthur finally declined the fifth one as the aches of his midriff took a turn for the worse and breathing was only a hair’s length away from painful.

“I’m going to the garden,” he murmured to Yao in passing, slipping away from the throngs of people and re-entering the ground floor. Only his steps echoed off the cold stone walls, and the lonesome sound calmed him considerably. Through the only pair of glass doors in the whole castle, Arthur reached the castle garden, his favourite place, and he slowed his steps and inhaled.

The sharp pain that followed the action was not normal, and Arthur swallowed thickly before shallowing his breaths out.

Perhaps the three – four, actually – dances with the foreign king had been overdoing it, Arthur mused as he splayed his fingers over his stomach, trying to feel up tender areas as he strolled to the white-painted bench near the blue roses. Arthur would come there as often as possible to catch a breath, away from Alfred and the frustrating advisors that were always nagging at Arthur about Alfred, and they were all full of—

Arthur inhaled slowly as he sat down. A cool breeze welcomed him in the darkening garden.

He ought to have gone to his room instead, he mused; it might have been better to undress and take the offending undergarment off before any permanent damage was done. Perhaps he had too much pride to do that.

The blue roses almost glowed under the setting sun. Arthur absentmindedly fingered the fake rose in his hair, and recalled Francis doing the same earlier. What a flirtatious fool, and how much more foolish was Arthur for having been charmed into three more dances? He could almost feel the touch of Francis’ hand on his waist still.

“Idiot,” he said out loud to himself, leaning back against the bench. The aches did not leave, not even as Arthur closed his eyes and focused on the nature around him.

“I was wondering where you left,” an entirely too familiar voice quipped, causing Arthur’s eyes to fly open. Had he truly paid not enough attention to hear the other’s steps?

“Francis,” Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgment, exhaling and inhaling shallowly. “Why aren’t you there, dancing?”

“I should be asking you that,” Francis hummed, an aggravating smile on his face that Arthur found even more exasperating when framed by the dying sunlight. “You are the host, and yet you disappeared on your guests.”

“I needed air,” Arthur said vaguely, turning his eyes to the roses. Breathe in, breathe out, he repeated to himself. “I will return soon.”

“You do not look well,” Francis observed. Arthur snorted at the complete disregard of his words. “This is simply a guess, but, ah – is it the corset?”

Arthur did not answer.

“So it _is._ ”

Damn it.

“You did not want to show weakness around others, hm?” Francis sounded amused. “How cute.”

“Be quiet, you,” Arthur spat, wheezing when his ribs complained. He caught the worried frown that appeared on Francis’ face.

“That’s not supposed to happen—let me help you out of that,” Francis murmured, his hand gently reaching for the laces on the back of Arthur’s dress. “The corset must have been tied too tight…”

“Hands off,” Arthur hissed, retreating to the other side of the bench before Francis could reach him, though the movement left him out of breath and in slight pain, as his grimace indicated.

Francis rolled his eyes. “You are in pain, my dear. You cannot possibly untie it yourself, and moving upstairs as you are now would be unwise, in my most humble opinion. Arthur, do not be stubborn about _this_.”

Arthur would have heaved out a sigh if he had been able to. Regardless, he saw the truth in Francis’ words. Thus, with visible reluctance, he turned his back to Francis and tried his best to ignore the embarrassing heat spreading on his face as Francis’ fingers grazed his back.

How could he allow himself in such a compromising position? Anyone could walk in on them. Francis was _undressing_ him, and they had only met and this ball was a _disaster_ —

Arthur bit on his lip. _Calm down. Don’t let your thoughts get the better of you_. _Francis’ hands sure are warm…_

“You need to pull the sleeves off your arms,” Francis whispered as he finished untying the back of the dress, his breath making every hair on the back of Arthur’s neck rise up.

Arthur tugged the fabric down, heart drumming faster the more skin he revealed to the man behind him. This was outrageous.

“Definitely on too tight,” Francis murmured, displeasure tainting his otherwise pleasant voice. “Oh, how could you stand such torment on your poor, poor ribs…?”

“It’s called willpower,” Arthur answered stiffly as he felt Francis’ fingers ease the knots of the corset. “Something you clearly do not have.”

“You are a rude one, aren’t you?” Yet, Francis didn’t sound offended in the least as he reached out and touched Arthur’s chest and—

“What do you think you’re _doing_ —“

“Helping you out of the corset, of course,” Francis said, sounding confused, but his fingers did halt their progress on the undergarment. “Why?”

“I—“

“Oh, I see.” Arthur didn’t need to turn around to see to know Francis was grinning. “You were thinking something awfully indecent, weren’t you, dear queen?”

“I was _not_ —“

“Yes, you were.” Francis’ breath tickled Arthur’s skin. “Your neck flushes beautifully, you know.”

“Don’t take the damn corset off,” Arthur muttered, disregarding the previous reply concerning his neck. “I still need to go inside—“

“—but it would be a lot better for your ribs to let them be for now,” Francis cut him off, pointedly resting his hand over Arthur’s side. “I will hide with you here for the remaining evening, if you so wish.”

“Absolutely not.”

“At least let me take it off,” Francis bargained patiently. “Trust me, you will feel a lot better afterwards.”

Arthur sighed, tired of this argument and the man behind him. Very well, then. If it made Francis go away, maybe he would allow it.

“Fine,” he said finally, watching closely as Francis’ fingers began to work on peeling the corset off of his midriff.

What was truly scandalous, however, was that Arthur realized that for the first time in _years_ , he was attracted to someone, physical as it may be.

How much easier would things be if the other kings were old men instead…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's literally 5 am for me, so I will come back to edit this chapter a bit later.


	3. diamonds and gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur comes to realize just how much it sucks to have pent-up sexual frustration in the vicinity of an attractive (sometimes charming) King of Diamonds.
> 
> Fuck. 
> 
> Also: _screw international politics_.

Arthur was used to servants accidentally touching him in the process of helping him into corsets. It was unavoidable, and not terribly pleasant, but Arthur had stopped minding it since those instances were nothing but isolated incidents without any ill intentions behind them. As far as Arthur knew, anyhow. Those kinds of touches were impersonal, lacked curiosity and flooded professionalism.

Alfed’s touches were warm, friendly, but there was no real spark behind them, not the curiosity to feel Arthur’s skin. It would have been disgusting if there was, Arthur sometimes mused as Alfred held onto his wrist dispassionately. The young king, his _husband_ since precious spring, had always been closer to a pesky little brother than a love interest. That feeling remained unchanging even to this day, and so – for all his warmth – Alfred could never elicit the uneasy spark of attraction in Arthur.

Arthur had never even been aware of the lack of the said spark, not until he experienced it now. It had started at the ballroom, amidst the other dancing pairs, and now it was hard to ignore as he felt the heat of Francis’ body press up against him from behind as long, nimble fingers worked on Arthur’s corset and unclasping it from the front as the knots on the back had been loosened.

“You needn’t be that close,” Arthur found himself grumbling, loud enough to defeat the noise he heard his heart making inside him. Francis’ fingers paused, grazing at the skin of Arthur’s stomach that was being revealed little by little. _He’s doing this at a snail’s pace on purpose._

“Does it bother you?” Francis asked, voice low and sultry and more than enough to tie the knot forming in Arthur’s stomach tighter. If there was a voice that could make a person come undone, Arthur had just found it.

Perhaps repressing his sexual fantasies and needs for so long had been a mistake, Arthur mused in the following moment as he deliberately refrained from replying to Francis’ question. The fingers continued to unhook the clasps that kept the corset pressed against his chest, and Arthur became increasingly aware that celibacy _really_ did not mean much to him.

But diplomatic relations did, so he pushed those thoughts aside.

“There you go,” Francis murmured as he pulled the corset off, freeing Arthur’s midriff. “You might want to massage your stomach to ease the remaining aches, dear Queen.”

“Uh,” Arthur took in a deep exhale, careful and slow. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

Francis’ hands withdrew, along with the piece of undergarment, and Arthur only now dared to look back. The dying sunlight highlighted the glow of Francis’ hair and the glorious oranges of his luxurious clothes, but at least, Arthur noted, it was harder to see the glimmering sparks in Francis’ eyes.

But even the dying light did not hide the smirk that pulled at Francis’ mouth. “’Your Majesty’, hm? Why so timid all of a sudden, Arthur?”

“I’m trying to be _polite_ ,” Arthur spluttered, bristling at the man before his narrowed eyes. Inhale, exhale; the sharpest spikes of pain had quickly receded by now. Then he glanced at the corset in Francis’ hands, and another wave of mortification washed over him. In a low mutter, he grumbled, “I can’t go back inside now.”

Francis smiled wider. “Afraid of a scandal, Arthur dear?”

“Stop that,” Arthur snapped, pulling his sleeve back to his arms once he noticed Francis’ eyes trailing down the available skin. Had the man no shame? “Stop the leering, and throwing silly endearments to someone you have just met—“

“So you _are_ afraid of a scandal,” Francis mused. “Possibly because your kingdom only recently embraced the international winds of _diplomacy_ rather than dull isolation. Or—“ A playful grin, a teasing wink. “—you are so attracted to me that you know you can’t help yourself.”

“And that,” Arthur said haughtily, “is what one would call narcissism of the highest degree.”

“No, no,” Francis continued, the smirk stretching, “I cannot blame you for being shy – it must be rather exciting to meet someone like me.”

“Exciting in a way that I am considering murder,” Arthur said as he snatched the corset away from Francis before he could inspect the material further. “Now, feel free to return to the ballroom where you obviously belong to.”

“Oh, but I must help you to tie your dress up properly,” Francis insisted, hand moving to run up Arthur’s back, over the revealed patch of skin. A tease that made Arthur’s insides squirm with unease bordering on shameful want. “It’s how a gentleman would act, after all.”

Francis was hardly a gentleman in Arthur’s mind, what with the less-than-subtle flirts the man kept throwing around, undoubtedly to others as well as Arthur, but this thought went unvoiced as Francis fingers went back to work on Arthur’s dress. Francis’ fingers were gentler than most people’s Arthur had had the pleasure of touching or being touched by, even though aristocrats hardly had any calluses or blemishes that would taint their beautiful skin, be that pale or dark.

Arthur shifted enough to make Francis’ job easier for him, and also to hide his face to keep himself from any inappropriate ogling he might fancy doing in his pathetic state.

“You have a beautiful garden, mind you,” Francis started idly, as if he was not helping a queen from his neighboring kingdom redress himself. “If you don’t wish to return inside, perhaps you could show me around. The blue roses are rather lovely in the evening, it seems.”

It was difficult to deny the suggestion. Francis was right, after all: the blue roses shone with glum glow of approaching night, impossibly bluer than Francis’ eyes.

“If you insist,” Arthur said, concealing his enthusiasm by looking away with pursed lips and dispassionate eyes as Francis finished tying the laces of his dress and withdrew his fingers away from Arthur.

“I’m afraid I do,” Francis chuckled as he stood up, extending his arm for Arthur to take hold of. “I am rather fond of flowers, though my occupation leaves me no time to learn gardening myself.”

“I see.” Arthur stared at Francis arm for a moment with a frown pulling at his brows, but in the end he (graciously, one might add) linked his arm with Francis’ and started to lead the strange fellow through the gardens, which covered several acres of land.

Extravagant, perhaps, but so was every other aspect in their lives.

*

Francis was pleasant enough to converse with when it came to flora, and Arthur found himself deeply interested in Francis’ tales of the gardens at his castle: roses of every colour, save for blue, Francis claimed with a meaningful look towards the decorative rose in Arthur’s hair.

“I do hope you have other flowers than roses there,” Arthur commented idly in response as he brought Francis to the corner of the garden where violets grew and flourished. The faint scent that saturated the air put Arthur at ease, tension leaving his shoulders and mouth as he inhaled the familiar smells around him. Although Francis’ cologne, which Arthur only now became aware of, ruined the scene a little bit.

“Of course,” Francis hummed, frowning at the suggestion that his interests were so singular if not even predictable. “As much as I adore roses and what each colour of them symbolizes, there are several flowers worth admiring and picking. Rather like people, one could say.”

At this point, Francis’ gaze turned to Arthur, catching the other’s eyes, and his smile softened.

 _I see what you’re doing_ , Arthur thought in between the heavy thumps of his heart. Swallowing, he managed to say, rather weakly, “A romanticist at heart, I see.”

“Always,” Francis said, and his eyes twinkled. Arthur’s skin tingled, goosebumps spreading. “There’s nothing more beautiful than love and romance in this world, don’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Arthur muttered. “At twenty-three, I have yet to see anything spectacular in what you call romance.”

A chilly wind passed, and Arthur shuddered in its wake – or perhaps, perhaps it was the contemplative frown on Francis’ face: lips curled down, brows slightly knitted, a delicately shaped nose scrunched up.

“What?” Arthur demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and fingers tightening their hold over the corset he awkwardly held onto. His heart refused to calm down, and his palms sweated.

“That’s a sad thing to say, that’s all,” Francis mused, leaning into Arthur’s personal space again as he added in a low murmur, “should I prove it to you? The beauty in romance?”

Arthur had read quite a number of romance novels in his teenage years, given that those were the equivalent of the porn that the lower class had easier access to, so he couldn’t deny he was familiar with the concept itself… in theory. He rolled his eyes, both at himself and Francis. “I don’t think a married man ought to educate others on such a matter.”

“It is but an arranged marriage,” Francis pointed out, though his expression changed. A disconcerted frown twisted his face, teeth nibbling at his lower lip; rather unrefined for a king. “There’s no romance to break when both parties sigh the papers without a hint of love in either heart.”

Arthur thought about Alfred, his make-believe husband, and could see Francis’ point. But he wouldn’t admit it, now would he? “Still, going around seducing people just for the hell of it is inappropriate.”

“Am I seducing you?” Francis obviously thought he was being smart, but he wasn’t, not in the least.

Arthur didn’t back away, even though Francis’ cologne wafted to his nose and he recognized it as a flowery scent. Roses? _How predictable, Francis Bonnefoy._ “Yes, and very unsuccessfully, too.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

“So, you would honestly protest,” Francis leaned in closer, hand moving up to caress Arthur’s cheek tenderly but with thoughtful caution, “if I said I wanted to kiss you, Arthur?”

 _Hell no._ “Obviously.”

Francis’ eyelids drooped, but Arthur could still see the flash of disappointment in Francis’ eyes just before the man withdrew back into his own space.

“If that’s your answer,” Francis said levelly, though his smile was a little dimmer now, “I shall abide by it, beloved Queen of Spades.”

Francis had absolutely no right to look like a kicked puppy simply due to a rejected kiss, in Arthur’s mind. Even if Arthur desired the feeling of lips against his own, most preferably Francis’.

Oh, God, he _was_ sexually repressed, wasn’t he?

Arthur clenched his jaw. “As I expect you to, King of Diamonds.”

Francis nodded, extending his hand out to Arthur. “Shall we continue? I believe there’s still more for me to see, yes?”

And so they did.

*

Francis’ genuine interest made Arthur quite content to know that there was someone that understood the appeal in the beauty of not only flowers but also their language, though he supposed he should have known that from the moment Francis admitted to being a romanticist.

“Peonies,” Francis sighed wistfully as he bent down to his knees and sniffed at the pink flowers. “Absolutely lovely, although perhaps ironic in certain sense when it comes to nobility like us.”

“Not all marriages require romantic love to be happy,” Arthur pointed out stiffly, realizing what Francis was getting at. “And this is a rather heavy topic to start with someone you barely know, Francis.”

“Perhaps,” Francis agreed, smiling up at Arthur with both his lips and eyes. As if he had forgotten the rejection he had received only ten minutes or so ago. “But weather is such a dull topic, and there’s only so much that can be said about it before one’s interest dwindles.”

“There’s plenty to talk about this kingdom’s weather,” Arthur forced himself to laugh. “It’s amazing it’s not raining right now, for one.”

 “Yes, I have heard about that dreadful phenomenon,” Francis smirked as he picked one of the peonies, snapping it from the stem, and stood up. Arthur watched him silently as Francis moved in to tuck the flower behind Arthur’s ear, the one that had lacked a flower before.

Fingers lingering, Francis’ whole demeanor softened. “Still, there’s beauty here, too.”

Arthur’s mind offered very insightful commentary in the form of incoherent curses and clearer thoughts of _kiss him already, you oaf_ and _he’s really fucking good at this art called seduction_.

“Kiss me,” Arthur blurted out before he could regain his grasp on sanity, before he could resist the impulsive urge, the _temptation_ that came in the form of Francis Bonnefoy. Screw international politics.

Francis’ hand touching the side of Arthur’s head froze as the man inspected Arthur cautiously. “Are you sure, Arthur?”

Arthur let the corset hit the grass as he stepped closer to Francis, eyes half-lidded and meeting Francis’ head-on. “I won’t ask twice, Francis.”

And he didn’t need to, because in the next moment he was already pressed up against Francis, both his body and lips as Francis kissed him, hot and fluid and overwhelmingly intense. Lips against lips, moving and shifting and _bruising_ as Arthur pressed in harder, greedy for more.

Francis hand glided down from Arthur’s face, down his neck (which elicited a shudder), and then down to his side before trailing over to Arthur’s hips, fingers curling into the deep blue fabric. Arthur’s hands went up into Francis’ hair, not caring about appearances in the least as fingers dove into golden locks with every intention to mess them up.

Francis tilted his head, forcing Arthur’s to fall back, and deepened the kiss. Arthur moaned against the smooth, soft lips, so very wanton and lost in the dizzying warmth. And, oh Lord, Francis’ nibbling at his lower lip, both with teeth and without, was absolutely bone-melting, at least for Arthur’s usually steady knees. Francis seemed to notice this, if that infuriating grin that formed against Arthur’s mouth was of any indication. Arthur’s thought of painfully tugging Francis by the hair evaporated as soon as Francis lowered them down on the grass, mouths still connected and tongues flicking past part lips to meet.

A searing want curdled inside Arthur as he probed at Francis’ tongue with his own, clumsy with inexperience and years’ of inactivity in this area. Francis was eager as well, but more patient as he slid his tongue in Arthur’s mouth, flicking and seducing Arthur’s into compliance. And then—

Arthur found himself able to breathe in the quickly chilling air, and the cloudiness of his mind started to dissipate… albeit slowly.

“Arthur.” Francis was not much better with his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, and _oh god what have we done_ went through Arthur’s mind as well as _well I’ll be damned, he’s a brilliant kisser_. The most urgent thought, however, was _I want to do it again_.

Grass stains be damned, he wanted to kiss Francis again, and Arthur could easily blame it on his hormones and over-eager dick. Also on Francis’ pretty face, because it truly was a sight to behold.

Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat as he tried to not meet Francis’ gaze, but the attempt was useless as Francis’ eyes held the steady, intense contact regardless of Arthur’s intentions to evade them.

Maybe it had something to do with the arms still wrapped around Francis like he was a lifeline.

Francis’ eyes reflected similar desire that Arthur was sure his own showed, and he took a sharp inhale at the realization that he was wanted in return – sexually, of course, but that could make all the difference on one’s withering self-confidence sometimes.

“This is a really bad place for this,” Arthur managed. Fuck if he would completely lose himself to this physical attraction; he wasn’t a _teenager_ anymore, no. Making out with the first stranger that as much as smiled at him was not something he wanted to do, yet here he was, out of breath and beneath a king that was not his.

It could become a scandal if anyone were to find out, and gods knew how servants loved gossip of any kind.

“It is,” Francis agreed, but his lips curled into a playful smirk. “Yet it is romantic, is it not?”

Arthur snorted derisively, but said nothing as Francis’ lips brushed against his.

“There’s certain excitement in danger,” Francis murmured against Arthur’s mouth, “in being caught.”

“I think you’re mistaking romantic for _arousing_ here,” Arthur breathed back, tongue flicking and running over Francis’ lip.

“Perhaps,” Francis muttered in agreement before pressing a chaste kiss on Arthur’s expecting mouth. “Either way, I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur rolled his eyes, squeezing his eyes shut when Francis’ hands groped at his thighs. _Ah, shit._ “Francis, don’t—we really ought to go back to the ball. Alfred’s going to wonder where I went. And surely you haven’t had enough of dancing yet.”

“Will you dance with me?” Francis winked at him, trying to bait him. “I’m very content where I am right now, though.”

“Of course you are,” Arthur mumbled, “you’re on top of me.” And Arthur didn’t mind it; even if he did, there was a part of him that was _overjoyed_ having Francis over him. Now, if only Francis would move…

 _Stop thinking with your dick already_.

“I could also be kissing you,” Francis added smugly. “What’s it going to be, dear Queen?”

It took way too long for Arthur to take in a deep breath and huff out, “Get off of me; I’m returning to the ball.”

“Alright.” Francis obeyed the request without a fuss, and helped Arthur to his feet as well before tying his hair back up, since the hairband had fallen amidst their frolicking. Even with his hair tousled up, Francis was attractive, perhaps supernaturally so.

Arthur tried to tidy up his own appearance as well starting from his hair, but attempts were all in vain, and he sighed in frustration while Francis looked at the sight with an amused quirk of his lips.

“You had better give me one last dance in there at some point, Arthur,” Francis said whimsically, twirling a curl of hair between fingers as Arthur glared at him with all the frustration he could muster. There was plenty of that: Francis’ words and expressions could be irritating as hell, and Arthur’s erection hidden beneath the traditional Spades' dress did not help matters.

“That remains to be seen,” Arthur muttered, and Francis snickered.

*

“Where were you?” Alfred muttered as he gently grasped Arthur by the wrist the moment Arthur returned to the ballroom, a decent number of minutes after Francis.

“Gardens,” Arthur mumbled back. “Is everything alright here?”

“Asides from the King of Clubs being a _creep_?” Alfred sighed. “It’s kinda boring, Artie; you know I don’t like these kinds of parties.”

“You will have to grow into them, I suppose,” Arthur snorted as he shook his wrist free from Alfred’s hold. “It’s a very _adult_ -like thing, after all.”

“ _Hey_ , I’m an adult too!” Alfred whined, but his face showed some relief to have this familiar bickering match with Arthur. Guess the lad had really been feeling unlike himself, Arthur thought and felt just a little sorry for leaving the young king to cater to their guests all by himself.

The orchestra was still playing, a disgruntled Jack of Clubs leading them. Arthur’s brow twitched, insulted that this foreigner did not think well of the music Arthur and Alfred’s people created and displayed. But perhaps that truly was just how Roderich Edelstein “was”, like Francis had said.

“The last waltz is coming up soon,” Arthur said, glancing at the pocket watch Alfred was eyeing as well. “Should we—“

“Nah, I’m out,” Alfred cringed, but smiled apologetically after. “My toes are _dying_ in these boots.”

Arthur glanced down at the said boots. With some sarcasm, he heaved out, not hiding his disappointment because at this rate he might just have to dance with Francis again, “Shall I complain to the shoemaker later, my King?”

“Nah, you’d chew the poor guy out,” Alfred grinned cheekily as he shoved the pocket watch away into the folds of his clothes. “Anyway, you should dance, Artie. Go, have fun like the old man you are.”

“I’ll remember that when _you_ turn twenty-three, Alfred,” Arthur retorted back, but left his arranged husband alone as he eyed the dancefloor. Francis was dancing with his Queen once more, a hand delicately placed on Lili’s hip and another holding Lili’s smaller hand up as he led the pair over the floor in swirling motions.

They were a good-looking pair, Arthur admitted, and if Francis hadn’t been eagerly snogging him earlier, Arthur would have believed them to be the rare royal couple to actually love each other.

The memory, still freshly etched into Arthur’s mind and lips, chilled him – and as if on cue, Francis’ blue eyes fleetingly met his as the couple passed by, dress and flowy shirt aflutter amidst the rush of movement. As brief as the eye contact was, it still managed to convey a message. _Keep your promise, dear Queen._

Oh, oh, what had Arthur got himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that... escalated quickly...
> 
> About peonies: "Peonies are known as the flower of riches and honor. With their lush, full, rounded bloom, peonies embody romance and prosperity and are regarded as an omen of good fortune and a happy marriage."


	4. the first flop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diamonds and Hearts leave, and Arthur is a bit overwhelmed with himself.

As fate would have it, Arthur ended up keeping his promise to dancing once more with Francis – and as fate, that fickle mistress, would again have it, the dance was the last waltz for the night, after which most of the guests would bugger off to their respective kingdoms and hopefully stay there until the next compulsory social event.

“Thank you,” Francis murmured right before the last waltz began, “for keeping you promise, Arthur.”

“I promised nothing,” Arthur grumbled, distracted by Francis’ body heat and the memory of Francis’ lips on his. “You got lucky, that is all.”

“Very lucky, indeed,” Francis smiled, and a third of it was sarcasm to match Arthur’s wit. “Luckier would be being able to resume where we left off before, wouldn’t it?”

Arthur’s sharp intake of breath drowned in the beginning notes from a violin. He barely heard it, barely felt Francis slowly starting to lead them into the slow dance; what he felt was the burning heat from Francis’ hand and body, the re-lit desire that had barely settled since Arthur came back from the garden. Francis’ suggestive voice was the cause, the culprit, not to mention his glimmering eyes that peered at Arthur openly.

“Don’t be absurd,” Arthur grunted after finally finding his voice, lowering his gaze away from Francis’. A sign of weakness, perhaps, or even one of submission, but there was only so much _blue_ of the other’s eyes that he could take. “We should not have allowed ourselves to—“

“Lose ourselves to the flames of passion?” Francis quipped quietly, though his smirk was still audible through the solemnity of his voice. “Clearly you have never had a satisfying one-night stand.”

“Clearly you’re a lecherous fool,” Arthur snapped back, just as quietly so that he would not cause a scene. Alfred might be watching, as well, and the manchild would surely have a laugh if it was Arthur that ruined their chances at diplomatic relations with the Diamonds.

“Are you always this angry when excited?” Francis laughed into his ear, and Arthur’s back went frigid at the words as well as the accompanying deep chuckle. “Oh yes, Arthur, I _noticed_.”

“You—“ Arthur recalled Francis on top of him, the weight of the king settled easily over Arthur’s lithe body, and it would have been so easy to lead the situation down the sexual route. “You must have misunderstood something, Francis.”

Francis rolled his eyes, managing to pull Arthur closer to himself without missing a step in the waltz. “Do tell me, do you wear sticks under your dress? Because that is honestly the only other explanation for—“

“Don’t,” Arthur shushed him by stomping on Francis’ foot, the least gently as possible. The deep grimace and an audible whine that followed pleased Arthur greatly. “I don’t appreciate being made a fool, Francis.”

Francis’ grimace smoothed away after the next few notes and a couple of twirls around the ballroom. “I apologize,” he murmured into Arthur’s ear once he was sure Arthur wouldn’t stomp on his foot again, “I admit, that was a little crude of me.”

“A little?” Arthur scowled.

“Do not push your luck, dear queen,” Francis murmured, leaning his head against Arthur’s. “I must admit one thing: you make an interesting dance partner.”

*

The guests from Diamonds did not stay for the night; their travel back to their castle would take only a few hours, and they desired to get back to their home that night. (Lili, the Queen, could not sleep well anywhere but the castle, Arthur heard someone say.)

“It is a pity,” Francis said to Alfred, holding the young king’s hand between his, “I would have enjoyed a dinner with you all.”

“As would we,” Alfred agreed politely as he tried to not look uncomfortable with Francis’ hands clutching his so intimately. “To create new bonds… and stuff.”

Arthur, by Alfred’s side, couldn’t help but roll his eyes in exasperation at Alfred’s choice of words. “It’s called ‘diplomatic relations’, Alfred.”

“Artie, don’t start this now.”

Francis snorted as he let go of Alfred’s hands, just as Lili curtseyed shyly at Arthur while the Diamonds’ Jack stood by her side and wore a stern, impassive face as Arthur repeated Lili’s motion in return.

“We had a good time,” Lili murmured and smiled at the royal couple of Spades. She bowed her knees again. “Thank you for your hospitality, King and Queen of Spades.”

 _Some more than others,_ Arthur mused as he glanced at Francis and the strands of hair that fell down to his cheeks.

“Some more than others,” the Jack of Diamonds grumbled, and his glare was directed at Francis, who took notice of it.

“Hey,” he said defensively, raising his hands up. “I have not done anything immoral, Vash! You _wound_ me.”

“Good,” Vash said, and Arthur tried hard not to smirk but failing rather spectacularly at that. Vash nodded, a sharp movement of his head, and uttered quietly, “May your economy stay stable as well as your health.”

“Yours as well,” Arthur and Alfred echoed as Francis offered his arm to the petite queen, a warm smile on his face even when their Jack scowled irritably.

“ _Au revoir_ ,” Francis sing-songed in a foreign tongue as he and his legions of people – no, really, Francis had brought at least thirty nobles with him while the others had only brought fifteen or so – exited the castle with just as flare and grace as they had arrived.

Arthur could not help but stare, a sting of something pressing against his heart as Francis disappeared out of the main entrance of the castle.

_Well, there went the chance for the first easy lay in years._

Arthur did not notice Yao’s observant eyes on him, nor their Ace’s curious gaze.

*

Hearts’ nobility followed after Diamonds’, but their royalty took their time to say goodbye to Spades’. Ludwig, with whom Arthur hadn’t unfortunately had to chance to talk during the ball, gave another firm handshakes to the Queen and the King both, lips firmly in line but eyes bright from the number of champagne glasses enjoyed.

“The pleasure was all ours, even though our nobles left rather rudely,” Ludwig said apologetically to Arthur and Alfred, bowing his head stiffly with his Queen. “I trust we will meet again soon, King of Spades?”

“Ah, yes,” Alfred hummed distractedly. “The trade negotiations, right?”

“Yes,” Ludwig affirmed. “Other kings will attend those as well, so it might… take longer than the planned four days. Especially since the King of Diamonds does things at his own pace.”

Ludwig’s face contorted into a mildly disgusted expression, at which Arthur smirked before sobering up. He could understand Ludwig’s irritation with the man, although Francis had one remedying quality: being an excellent kisser. And the sad truth was that it actually would get Francis rather far when it came to politics and influence over important people.

Like Arthur, but Arthur wouldn’t allow Francis to get under his skin again. No more, no more.

“Yeah, Francis seems,” Alfred made a vague gesture with a sheepish grin on his face, “one of a kind.”

“You could say so,” Ludwig agreed, even though the Jack of Hearts, Feliciano, pinched his hand with a small frown on his normally cheerful face. Apparently he did not appreciate the needless commentary on Francis.

“Feliciano, I’m sorry, but I really do not like the man,” Ludwig said with as much propriety as a man whom another was holding onto like a leech was capable of. “Regardless, it was a pleasure meeting you all.”

Kiku, who had remained quiet thus far, turned to them as well and murmured, “May your kingdom receive prosperity and wealth.”

“Same to you,” Arthur bowed his head mechanically, but his voice was lost as Alfred grinned and declared that _of course it would with my awesome ideas_ and _I really hope to see ya again, Kiku_ , both which left everyone vaguely uncomfortable from the informality of such declarations.

Arthur heaved out a sigh, shoulders sagging as the Heart royalty left, most still mimicking the style of a military march whereas Feliciano bounced on his heels and skipped by Ludwig’s side. And, much to Arthur’s surprise, Feliciano even leaned up to press a kiss to the King of Hearts’ cheek, obviously not caring if anyone saw them.

Ludwig, who appeared stoic and stiflingly appropriate, did not resist, did not push Feliciano away, but Arthur turned his eyes down.

There were all kinds of courts.

*

The visitors from Clubs, however, decided to stay the night, as their travelling to home would take longer and was generally a much more arduous journey than, for example, Francis’, whose kingdom was Spades’ neighbour. Ivan, the king of the said kingdom, was properly apologetic for the inconvenience, but the Spades had prepared for such an occasion regardless and so there was plenty of food to spare for Ivan and his companions as well.

From there on, Arthur did not know what happened, as he himself skipped the late dinner in favour of sleep, which he mentioned to Yao in a hushed whisper.

“Are you _sure_ you want to leave the Clubs with Alfred?” Yao had murmured back, his eyes trailing over to the two kings engaged in a lively pre-dinner conversation. As Alfred’s face scrunched up in mild irritation, it did not appear a particularly pleasant one.

“I am tired,” Arthur simply said in return, though he too glanced at Alfred in worry. “I trust _you_ will keep him in check, Yao. And there’s Matthew, as well.”

“Your King hardly listens to his brother as it is,” Yao huffed, but nodded in acceptance after scrutinizing Arthur’s appearance. Then, glancing at Alfred and Ivan, he continued, “Worry not, Arthur. I will do my best, but I can’t promise we will not be at war with Clubs when you awaken.”

“Very reassuring indeed,” Arthur sighed but he began his ascent towards his chambers and tried to not look too relieved to be able to escape the presence of the other nobles. Tried to pretend it wasn’t the memory of Francis that he was running away from.

*

In the safety of his champers and having awkwardly tugged the dress off of himself, Arthur realized in one horrifying, clear flash of memory that the corset was still down in the gardens, in the midst of peonies.

 _Shit_. There were very few people in the castle that used corsets, as they had started to become outdated in the field of fashion as of late, and Arthur was one of them. For all his careful avoiding of a scandal, he might still end up in one… unless servants were mindful enough to look away and ignore the implications.

Arthur allowed himself time to inwardly beat himself up for giving into Francis, for falling so low as to follow his body’s desires rather than his rationality. Fingers shakily pulled the dress off, the fabric rustling as it slid down his sides that, alright, had gathered a bit of fat recently, before Arthur stepped out of it, and the memory of Francis’ fingers trailing his naked spine came back to him.

Shuddering, Arthur mechanically folded the dress properly so that the servants could wash it the following day and left it on the back of the luxurious sofa that faced the large double windows leading to the balcony. Underskirt was the next to come off, and Arthur kicked the heeled shoes out of his way, preoccupying himself with these post-ball rituals.

He set the decorative rose down more gently, placed it on the empty corner of his desk he used for light reading and paperwork. He did not glance at the romance novel he had left there earlier.

A bit later, after having changed into his nightgown and blowing off the candles, Arthur finally lay down, the mattress barely squeaking beneath him as he settled himself on it. And then the contemplation, the assessment of the day began to unfurl in his head, because there was only so much he could evade thinking about.

One thing that had escaped his attention before now was that Gilbert, one of the two Jokers that kept running around the kingdoms and causing small-scale disasters in their wake, was related to one of the kings in the Four Kingdoms. It was unsettling, in a way; Jokers were the only two unbiased people in the whole continent, and both were related to one royalty one way or another.

But, in Peter’s case, a relationship of blood did not pay off, since Peter did not appreciate Arthur’s efforts in his education and spent most of his time actively avoiding the Queen if not outright playing tricks on him.

Fuck cousins (twice removed, but relations are relations).

Arthur stared at the ceiling, at the painted depiction of the early history of Spades – conquerors from foreign lands, saints whose blood had been shed over the cobblestones citizens walked on these days. Usually staring at the painted ceiling brought Arthur some peace of mind, although it was only the knowledge that times had changed that brought that calm.

The relation between Gilbert and Ludwig was a bothersome thing, something that other kingdoms must have considered long before when Gilbert rose to Jokerhood. Arthur pushed the thought away as one of the topics he ought to discuss with Diamonds and Clubs later on, perhaps bringing it up the next morning with Ivan and Elizaveta.

Diamonds… Arthur closed his eyes as Francis re-entered his mind, fingers under the blankets twitching as they slid to his thighs. Out of all the people to feel such strong physical attraction to, it had to be Francis Bonnefoy, the king of the kingdom Spades had historically been at odds with.

Arthur bit at his lip as he felt the remaining warmth of arousal inside him reignite. It had been a constant feeling ever since his return from the gardens and short-lived tongue-on-tongue combat with Francis, a low thrumming of want in his veins making his desire obvious not only to himself but also to Francis. That damn arse had looked at him with such a smug face… with glinting eyes, up-tilted mouth, and a hand pressed snugly against Arthur’s hip during the intimate dance.

Arthur should be ashamed, really; so far, he had honored his vows to Alfred he had uttered only months ago in spring. He had honored his betrothal to Alfred, as well, and _that_ had first been arranged when Arthur had been fifteen, eight years ago. And, alright, masturbation was not breaking that vow, but masturbating to a foreign king was definitely pushing the limits.

And he was, he really was ashamed of himself. But shame did not stop him from touching himself then as it had never stopped him from yearning for the seas. A disgraceful desire for a nobleman, his mother had said sternly when he had voiced it once, just after his engagement to Alfred.

 Shame did not stop him from remembering how Francis’ mouth had moved against his, threatening to swallow the clarity of Arthur’s mind whole, and how soft the locks of golden hair bed felt between Arthur’s nimble fingers.

It certainly did not stop Arthur from climaxing and spurting semen into his own hand with an audible moan that broke the silence of the queen’s chambers.

But at least one thing was sure: he would not have to meet Francis for a while yet.

*

The next morning had Arthur feeling a little better about his mistake at the ball. Mistakes were made, he realized, but that did not always mean a scandal was going to follow each and every one of them.

(It was not as though he had actually slept with Francis, after all.)

That realization actually manifested itself in the form of the Queen and Jack of Clubs, who Arthur found sneaking around the upper floors of the castle to find a quiet place for snogging. It was still early in the morning – Arthur typically rose with the sun – so he had not expected to see their guests up and awake.

Roderich Edelstein was a remarkably handsome man, his features perfectly sculpted and fitting of aristocracy. Spades’ servants had noted this too, and Arthur had seen them gawking at him on the sidelines during the ball. Irritating as it had been, Roderich’s insistency on leading the orchestra had been even more so, even though he proved out to be wonderful at it.

He had sneaked in a couple dances: one with a noble of Clubs whose name Arthur had already forgotten, as well as another one with Elizaveta Hedervary, the Queen of Clubs.

Arthur had been dancing with Francis, preoccupied with small talk with the strange fellow, so he had not taken notice of their perhaps unnaturally close relationship as a queen and a jack.

So, seeing Roderich Edelstein and Elizaverta Hedervary standing and kissing in the corner of one of the hallways further in the castle, mostly only used by servants and Jack of Spades, was a wee bit surprising. It was like watching a horrid horse incident in real time: impossible to tear one’s eyes away, impossible to intervene.

It was an unbearably gentle show of affection: eyelids fluttering, gazes meeting, lips touching once, twice, _thrice_.

It was like walking in on a scene from his past, though this one was much less graphic than the one Arthur had witnessed in his youth. Clearing his throat, Arthur stepped forward and let his presence be known – the results were immediate: the two lovers, as one might assume from the picture painted before their eyes, separated with a jolt of fear, both heads snapping towards Arthur in his morning robes, similar to the ones Yao preferred to wear for special occasions.

“Queen of Spades.” Roderich at least had the propriety to look ashamed of himself – or of being caught, as Arthur thought was the case. “I apologize deeply for—“

“Fret not,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes, giving a quick look at the flustered face of the jack. “I am not interested in whatever issues you and your court have. I was strolling around a wee bit before breakfast.”

Roderich still appeared a tad flustered, especially with the fresh flush on his cheeks and the one curl of hair that refused to settle down with the rest of his hairdo. Elizaveta, who had quickly separated from him, slowly inched closer until she was able to link her arm with his.

Eyeing Arthur, Elizaveta smiled politely, perhaps a little too politely. “We, ah, wouldn’t want this to escalate into a huge deal if you understand what I mean, Queen of Spades.”

“There is no real interest here for me to spread rumours about you,” Arthur said. “As far as I’m aware, affairs have been a common thing in your court for quite a while.”

That was definitely not the most delicately worded sentence that had ever come out of Arthur’s mouth, but it was morning and Arthur was running low on energy without his first cup of tea. Therefore, those words happened.

“How crude,” Roderich sniffed, eyes narrowing at Arthur. “While it is true that such unrefined behavior did take place in our court, that does not make it prevalent or dominant—“

“Roderich sweetie,” Elizaveta cooed with a too-sweet smile on her lips. Roderich pursed his lips and threw her a wary glance. “Our case hardly proves his words false, you realize that, yes? Especially when your cravat is all tousled up from last night.”

Roderich and Arthur paled, similar looks of horror crossing their faces. Roderich was the first to regain his voice. “Elizaveta!”

Elizaveta, the shrewd queen that she was, continued to smile. “Now, perhaps we should join my dear _husband_ for breakfast downstairs, yes? He greets the morning rather early during weekdays, so he should be up and about now.”

Yet, she looked comfortable there by Roderich’s side. For an affair it looked a lot like genuine affection, and it made Arthur feel sick to his stomach.

“Yes,” he said stiffly, squaring his shoulders awkwardly. “My King will most likely not awaken before noon if my estimation is correct – but in any case, I will be seeing you off afterwards.”

“Your King will not hear of this,” Arthur added as Roderich raised his finger to politely ask for a chance to speak. “Worry not, Queen and Jack of Clubs.”

With that, he politely gestured towards the more open hallway that would lead them to the downstairs and eventually the small breakfast room that Alfred had insisted on eating breakfast at. _It’s more cozy_ , the young king had insisted and Arthur had been willing to allow that much, perhaps out of guilt for not providing enough for Alfred in the past.

The castle was already bustling with life in the form of servants rushing about fulfilling their morning duties that included making the beds in the now empty guest chambers as well as feeding the horses and other animals bred in the castle grounds. Some of the nobles from Clubs had also awoken, and were found wandering around near the libraries located in the east wing where Arthur had met Roderich and Elizaveta.

The lovebirds (as Arthur sarcastically called them in his head) at least realized proper conduct near their people, a good distance between their bodies and definitely no needy snogging as they made their way down to breakfast room, as Alfred called it.

Yao was already enjoying breakfast when Arthur stepped in with the two from Clubs. As Elizaveta had said, her king was there as well, smiling like a child while glancing out from a nearby window. The sight would have been endearing if Ivan hadn’t been a man as tall as some of the smaller trees in Spades’ yard. Ivan also had muscle to back his height up, making him about as intimidating as the most muscular guards in Spades’ castle.

Yao’s face held a vacant expression, but it brightened the moment Arthur and others entered the room, their company now including some of the Clubs’ nobility (while a major part of them refused to eat something as frightfully simple as _porridge_ despite their national cuisine being based on the foundation of porridge).

“Your King is not joining us?” Ivan Braginsky queried as Arthur settled into a chair besides the one Alfred usually occupied.

“He’s still sleeping,” Arthur replied vaguely just as servants hurried to set down more cutlery. Elizaveta settled herself to Ivan’s right while Roderich moved to his left, casting Elizaveta a glance only Arthur caught a glimpse of. “He might not awaken before the noon.”

“Ah. A sloth, is he?” Ivan murmured, perhaps a bit gleefully as he scooped up some porridge and bringing the spoon to his mouth while humming a soft tune that sounded remarkably close to what Roderich had played the previous night.

“Quite,” Arthur agreed as he scooped himself a decent amount of watery porridge that made him cringe. At least the tea Matthew, their Ace, had prepared was high quality in taste and smell as always. Arthur took great comfort in that. Drinks, in general. “It happens all the time, so it is not as though he is trying to avoid anyone; the lad is simply irresponsible with his sleep schedule like that.”

“That ia absolutely ridiculous,” Roderich commented with an air of sophisticated arrogance around him. _Refined_ arrogance was surprisingly difficult to come by these days, but Roderich certainly had it. “Does he not have any duties as a king?”

Arthur could see his point; Arthur had presented that same question to Alfred several times in the course of their familial relationship that had lasted for well over a decade by this point.

Regardless of that, Roderich’s comment irked Arthur. “He performs best at night.”

Elizaveta nearly choked on her spoonful of porridge as she started laughing, even to the point of tears after she managed to swallow the food down the right pipe in her throat. Ivan and Roderich were not the least bit perturbed by this, though Arthur noted exasperation flickering over Roderich’s carefully blank expression.

“Are you alright, Queen of Clubs?”

“Oh, please,” Elizaveta gasped for air, “I think we have reached the point where first-name basis is acceptable.”

“Right.” Arthur tried not to make a face.

“She is right, you know,” Ivan commented lightly, a hint of a grin playing on his pallid face. “We all came together to make new friends, _da_? Let us at least play the part before there is no need for such act anymore.”

“That… is an awfully ominous statement to make,” Arthur said, losing his appetite as Ivan’s purplish eyes met his straight on with all the confidence that a long-reigning king had.

“All in the name of companionship and peace, yes?”

“That did not really answer my comment, but… very well…”

“He’s always like that,” Roderich sighed, playing the part of an exasperated jack very well as he glanced at Ivan with unimpressed glint in his eyes that were a shade or two darker than his king’s. “It is no cause for worry, Queen of Spades.”

 _And that does not reassure me either, Jack of Clubs,_ Arthur thought bitterly. At least Francis had offered a momentary reprieve from the stress the onslaught of politics were bound to bring.

Sometimes he wished he could sleep as well as Alfred did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading everything so far! The chapters may be clunky and uneventful, since I'm writing this as I go, but I will come back and edit these later accordingly.


	5. bluffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels strange, Arthur muses, to not have Alfred around all the time now that he's gone to the negotiations held in Hearts' kingdom.

“They left already?”

“Yes, because _you overslept_ ,” Arthur said patiently that afternoon, sipping on his usual cup of afternoon tea as Alfred tried to tame his bedhead and adjust the glasses on his nose. He looked much more like a typical teenager than a king, Arthur mused on these occasions. "That was rather rude of you."

Matthew Williams, the Ace of Spades, sat with them in silence – Alfred’s half-brother and an illegitimate heir to the throne. He was enjoying his syrup-covered pancakes as a snack, a cup of tea set before him as well. Alfred, on the other hand, had a huge pint of coffee on his side of the table.

“Eh,” Alfred shrugged, not at all heartbroken about missing out on saying bye-bye to Braginsky and his company. “Ludwig said we’d meet soon again at the trade negotiations, so it wouldn’t have been a goodbye for real anyhow.”

“It’s called courtesy, you dimwitted moron,” Arthur retorted as he tilted his cup towards himself, the warm tea tingling on the taste buds of his tongue as he drank. “Have you learnt nothing from your history lessons, Alfred?”

“Hey, that’s unfair,” Alfred mumbled as he munched on one of the three sandwiches set on a porcelain plate before him. That was followed by a long gulp of coffee, at which Arthur winced. Alfred continued talking afterwards like nothing abnormal hadn’t occurred. “’Sides, Artie, history’s history; those ancient codes of behavior or whatever shouldn’t hinder the future, right?”

“You would be surprised how wrong you are in most cases,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he hid his frown behind his cup. Even if Alfred was right, something like a one-night stand that broke marital vows would still cause an uproar regardless of the times and changes in etiquette. Arthur bit at his lip, regretting not overcoming his mortification last night and going back to fetch the piece of clothing.

Ah, ah, he needed to stop thinking about it and hope for the best case scenario of no one yet finding it.

“Yeah, okay,” Alfred huffed. He was getting into one of his brattier moods, obviously. “Maybe that’s we should change about society: off with the rules that impose stuffiness on people that just wanna have fun!”

The room went quiet at that, asides from the slurping Alfred had perfected into an art and the slow munching as Matthew ate his pancakes and contemplated what his brother had said.

“For example, marriage based on love?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow at Alfred, who shrugged his shoulders in response.

“If that’s what it means for ya, sure. Arranged marriages are bullshit anyway.” Alfred finished his second sandwich in two bites, causing both Matthew and Arthur to wince in horror. It was difficult to get used to _that_. “Like the Clubs’ King and Queen. It’s so _obviously_ staged.”

“Why do you say that?” Arthur quirked an eyebrow at Alfred’s accusation, mind reeling back to Roderich and Elizaveta and their lovelorn gazing. “They seemed to get along just fine.”

“Well _duh_ ,” Alfred rolled his eyes at Arthur. “But that’s got very little to do with loving the other, right?”

“Since when have you started thinking about _love_?” Arthur sneered, a little taken aback by Alfred’s sharp commentary on the matter. The king had always had difficulties with reading the atmosphere and was by definition _not_ a philosopher; so, what had brought this on?

“Francis and I got a chance to talk at the ball,” Alfred said, a little sheepish as Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him. “He has interesting ideas for someone as, uh, flamboyant as him, y’know?”

Oh dear God, Francis was _contagious_.

*

Arthur retreated back into his chambers afterwards, leaving Matthew and Alfred to have a brotherly staring match that Matthew would undoubtedly lose. Not because Matthew was incapable of holding eye contact, but because staring at Alfred’s grinning face would give the lad a headache the size of their kingdom.

He had tried to look for the corset in the garden before, a bit after lunch when the servants were busy with preparing food and such, but he had not found the piece of garment no matter how many times he had strolled past the beautiful peonies. Arthur found the fallen peony that Francis had tucked into his hair, but he did not find the corset.

It was terrifying, bur Arthur had yet to hear any damaging whispering amongst the servants and guards.

“Arthur.”

Arthur, who had been staring outside from the balcony doors, flinched at Yao’s voice. He hadn’t even heard the door to his chambers being opened.

“Yes?” Ever so composed, Arthur turned around while tugging at the sleeves of his dress shirt. He preferred shirts and waistcoats in daily life; dresses and corsets were saved for occasions such as balls and other social events. Yao, on the other hand, preferred his Eastern-styled clothes all the time, and today was no different.

Though, what he held in his arms was certainly different from the normal.

Arthur’s jaw clenched as he found himself staring at his corset held up in Yao’s small hands. Quite a few curses could sum up his thoughts, but only one accurately depicted hís feelings: _Bloody hell on a sandwich squeezed through an arsehole._

“I see you recognize your undergarments,” Yao said airily as he set it down on the sofa before sitting down himself, sharp eyes inspecting Arthur’s every movement. “Found it in the garden; I wonder how it ended up there.”

Arthur’s face heated up as he snapped, “I had hard time breathing in that damn thing!”

It wasn’t even a lie; in fact, it was the complete truth… although it omitted Francis’ part in it, and the subsequent consequences.

Yao’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I had noticed _that_ yesterday, too. But I have to wonder what the corset was doing down in the gardens this morning, when I went to take a leisurely stroll amongst the flowers.”

“I forgot it there.” Again: not a lie. “You know how forgetful I tend to be around flowers, Yao.”

“A Queen of Spades admitting to a weakness they possess? Now, this is a rare day indeed,” Yao mused as his face split into a teasing grin that made him look as young as Alfred. Arthur had never been able to tell how old Yao was, in actuality; it had been one of the things he had not managed to uncover during all this time spent in Spades’ court.

“But,” Yao continued, perhaps a bit more kindly, “if the said queen had done something they feel is shameful, they should not worry too much; it is a jack’s duty to protect the royal couple’s status and image, after all; it is what I did for both your and your king’s parents as well.”

Yao and Arthur got on well enough, certainly, but this was the first time Yao reassured him in this manner, with a touch of genuine concern that Arthur knew Yao had held for the previous monarchs.

“Yao…” Perhaps that was why the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter now. “Thank you. You have proven out to be very trustworthy.”

“Yet you will not tell me how you came to forget the corset in the garden,” Yao deduced, an eerie calmness around him as his smile faded. “Though I knew to expect that, I do wish you had decided to confide in me, especially if something less than pleasant happened to you.”

Arthur bit at the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing as he regarded the Jack of Spades for a moment in silence. _Earnest_ was a word not befitting either of them – it was Alfred’s quality – but there was honesty that Yao’s body language reflected, which made Arthur feel all the more guilty. Arthur was the one to turn his gaze away first.

“It is nothing as dramatic as you probably imagine, Yao,” he said and waved a hand dismissively. “A simple mistake that I will not repeat again.”

“If you are sure,” Yao acquiesced, his voice taking the reluctantly obedient tone that Arthur had heard a few times in the past when Yao was forced to drop a subject he wished to pursue.

“Anyhow,” Yao continued, now with a more even tone, and Arthur glanced back to him. “Alfred is leaving for the negotiations in two days. The location was changed at the last minute, _again_ —“

“They have been doing that a lot,” Arthur mused, brows knitting together. “Do you think the others are messing with us since we are rather desperate to form trading contracts?”

“I suspect it is the older Beilschmidt that has played his hand here.”

“Gilbert has far too much free time in his grabby little hands,” Arthur grunted as he turned to gaze outside the window. The day had started out with sun, but when the Clubs had gone, the familiar rain clouds had closed in on them. “So, Alfred is leaving on Monday? To Hearts still, I presume?”

“Yes,” Yao confirmed. “But not to the capital, but rather a small town near the border of Hearts and Clubs’ kingdoms.”

Arthur frowned. “That’ll be a long journey.”

“That it is. I am having Alfred do some last minute cramming on economics and whatnot in the meantime.”

“Good thinking, Yao,” Arthur said and smiled to himself. Yao was a much more patient teacher than Arthur, who had been the one to teach Alfred to read and do mathematics when Alfred had been younger. Granted, Alfred did learn and excel at both, but the endeavor had been _exhausting_ on Arthur, mentally and physically.

But what worried him more than Alfred’s knowledge on economics and the Spades’ situation was Alfred’s social skills and penchant for throwing ridiculous ideas with an irritating grin and an arrogantly cheerful tone.

“You will join him, right?” Arthur had to make sure. “Alfred will need you with him more than I need you here. No offence intended.”

“Naturally,” Yao hummed, a bit of laughter in his voice. The rain outside came down harder, the dull greyness tinted with depressing shades of blue. Arthur found himself smiling again. “Don’t worry about it too much, my Queen.”

With that, Yao softly bid his farewell as he returned to Alfred to watch over his frantic cramming of things that could befuddle even the mathematically brilliant men.

Arthur stared at the rain a while longer, smiling regretfully at himself.

Nothing good could come out admitting the truth, so he would keep it to himself. Like he had done with so many other issues before.

*

The weekend passed by quickly, and Arthur found himself fidgeting restlessly on the morning of Alfred’s depart. He hadn’t been apart from Alfred ever since their marriage last spring, and now Alfred would be off for several days with Yao. At least Matthew was going to stay with Arthur, as he had no interest in the policies negotiated at the Hearts’ kingdom.

At the stables little way from the main structure of the castle, Alfred and he said their goodbyes to each other. The carriage had been readied for Alfred and Yao’s departure, and the horses were restless as the driver settled on his seat, waiting for the royal couple to finish their farewells.

Alfred, dressed in his midnight blue suit, held Arthur’s hands in his and gave them a bit too forceful a squeeze. “Stop worrying already, Artie. You’re gonna get wrinkles, and that’d be pretty pathetic for someone not even in their mid-twenties.”

“It would be easier if you weren’t you, Alfred,” Arthur sighed, smirking afterwards at the exasperated expression that rose to Alfred’s face.

“Artie, I swear to our ancestors, if you don’t stop being mean to me, I’ll be the one responsible for the menu for the next half a year.”

“That… Alfred, you wouldn’t dare.”

“You succumbed me to _your_ disgusting favorite foods! Why should I not do the same?” Alfred was teasing him now, sky blue eyes twinkling under the weak sunlight that broke through the grey clouds.

Arthur couldn’t refute Alfred’s words, so he huffed irritably and looked away, mumbling a “stay safe and be careful, you moron”.

“Awww, you do care about little ol’ me,” Alfred’s grin widened as he chuckled and pulled his queen into a tight hug. “I’ll give your regards to Francis when I get there, okay?”

“What—Don’t do something silly like that; he and I barely talked!” Arthur pulled back to glare at Alfred’s stupid smile and well-intentioned eyes. The thought of Francis had him sweat and fidget, but he was better than to let it show. “Give my regards to the King of Hearts and, by extension, to his Queen – I was unfortunate to not chance a dance with the king.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred rolled his eyes, “but you know, I watched you and Francis dance. You two looked good, Artie. You had fun dancing with someone that doesn’t always step on your feet, didn’t you?”

Well.

Alfred did have a point there.

“True,” Arthur admitted, frowning a bit at having to admit that to Alfred. He could hear Yao trying to stifle a laugh by the side of the waiting carriage. “He was rather… skilled at not stepping on my feet.”

Alfred grinned and ruffled Arthur’s hair. “See, I told ya! But I guess should get going… I wanna be there on time, after all, like you’re always telling me to. Mattie, bro! I’ll get something nice for you too!”

Matthew, standing on the steps of a side-entrance to the castle, cast his brother a wry smile. “If you want to, Al, go ahead… just please, nothing suspicious… and nothing the customs would question.”

“You’re so boring, lil bro.”

“I’m literally three days older than you.”

“Eh,” Alfred shrugged. “You’re tiny, so I’m the big brother.”

“Of course,” Matthew said dryly, but Alfred’s attention shifted back to Arthur again. Arthur held a smile on his face, about fifty percent genuine and twenty percent forced. The remaining thirty were something else entirely.

“You should get going, Alfred,” he said softly, reaching out to adjust Alfred’s cravat. “Don’t screw us over, my King.”

“I would never!”

“Yao, keep watching over him.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Artie!”

“Off you go, lad, off you go.”

Arthur allowed himself to heave out a sigh as he watched Yao and Alfred climb into the carriage and the driver to pull at the reins, signaling the horses to start a gentle trot. It didn’t take the carriage long to disappear from view, what with the hills around the castle. The sounds of horse hooves slamming into the soft soil disappeared just a bit after the sight of the carriage, and Arthur allowed his shoulders to sag then and lips to curl down.

He could only hope Spades’ intolerable nobility would not bother him in the wake of Alfred’s departure. Arthur turned when Matthew’s fingers tugged at his sleeve, nodding his head at whatever Matthew said. It might have been important, but Arthur didn’t quite hear the words as he tried to quell the anxiety that gnawed at him.

*

He spent the rest of the afternoon hours doing paperwork and looking through the suggestions from peasants and commoners alike as well as nobles, though the latter class’ complaints continued to be the same from one year to another: not enough land, not enough privileges…

Growing up in a setting as sheltered as the nobles had to offer, Arthur had had zero contact with reality until he had been engaged to Alfred, the king’s legitimate heir. The trips overseas with his father when Arthur had been younger were an exception, but the cultures in the other continents were vastly different from his so Arthur had not paid much mind to it.

Arthur shook his head at the memories of the salty ocean winds ruffling his hair and shirt, and went back to reading through the documents of suggested bills. The most important ones went through Alfred, naturally, but in his absence Arthur was allowed the control over such.

He took a break for afternoon tea, which his personal servant brought up to him. Today it was strawberry-lime flavoured, and Arthur inhaled the scent as he settled down on the sofa and put the tray down on the wooden table located between the sofa and the balcony doors.

He had done well to push Francis off his mind thus far, but as he sipped his favourite drink in silence (save for the pitter-patter sound of rain outside) he could not help but think back to it. Alfred would meet Francis soon, or at the very least the following day as it would be later when Alfred arrived at Hearts. Anxiety prickled Arthur’s skin again: would Alfred really send his regards to the other king? Francis might conclude something disgraceful from that, like the lecherous man he was.

Arthur stared at the pouring rain for a while longer without really seeing anything. At first, he failed to notice the white-feathered bird pecking at the panel of the balcony doors, but the sound grew in volume and rhythm eventually to the point where it was impossible to ignore it. Like a leaking tap in the middle of a night.

“What the—“ Arthur blinked, his daze melting away as he finally noted the messenger pigeon pecking agitatedly at the doors. It wasn’t his family’s messenger: that bird was fat from all the snacks the elderly Kirkland couple fed to it… as well as _not_ white, like this.

Curious, Arthur opened the door and watched the bird hop in and ruffle its damp weathers in agitation. It would not be flying out there for a good while yet.

Arthur picked it up – messenger pigeons _were_ checked regularly by professionals, since who would want a bird-spread disease on them? – and carefully removed the message tied to the bird’s leg.

Unrolling the dampened papers, Arthur discovered that the handwriting was neat and smooth, the curves of letters aesthetically pleasing and thus very different from his usual mail.

 _Dearest Queen of Spades,_ it began and Arthur grimaced as he got the sinking feeling that he knew who the letter was from.

_I do not know whether I should bring this matter up again, since I have concluded your temper would most likely be stirred by any mention of the events that took place at your lovely ball. However, I am a man that does not shy away from danger, dear._

 Yes, Arthur definitely knew who the letter was from now, and his face heated up. Bloody _idiot_ , that godforsaken Bonnefoy.

_I will have to admit I am relieved to not have stayed for dinner, considering the rumours of your food that have reached my ever listening ears, but at the same time it was saddening to depart from you so soon, Arthur. May I address you as such now that there are no other ears listening to us? Or rather, eyes reading this, I suppose. Unless this somehow ended in the hands of your Jack – in which case, oops._

Arthur could almost hear Francis’ voice speaking the words written on the piece of paper, and his hands shook ungracefully as he held his breath. God, what was the _matter_ with him?

And more importantly, what was the matter with the King of Diamonds, writing such an informal letter to a foreign queen? One that could potentially hinder the two monarchies’ relationship?

Perhaps Francis Bonnefoy’s libido was getting the better of him.

Why was Arthur still reading the letter?

_Anyhow, dear Arthur. I decided to write to you before heading off to the Hearts, where I will undoubtedly meet your less than graceful king. I suppose you are not joining him? There are beautiful gardens in the country town the negotiations are held at: the most beautiful red roses as well as more homely flowers which I am sure you would enjoy looking at. There is hardly anything better than a conversation amidst flowers, yes?_

_Back in your kingdom, I greatly enjoyed myself. Your beautiful flowers were breathtaking, as were your eager lips against mine. I wish to not sound like a barbarian with no concept of tact here, but I must admit this – I have not forgotten the taste of your lips in the past days, few as there have been between then and now._

Arthur’s face burned hotter, hands trembling as he sat down and continued to read.

_Inexperienced as your lips are, it was wonderful; as were your flushed face and glistening eyes. Your eyebrows not so much, but they add a certain charm to your persona, Arthur. This may be simply physical attraction speaking right now, but you were beautiful right then, beneath me in the grass. And as someone that appreciates beauty very much, you can trust that I mean it._

Arthur bit at his lower lip, slightly irritated but mostly bothered by how hot he felt under his clothes. By how easily Francis’ obviously flattering words got to him. It was like the first dance with him all over again, warm eyes probing at Arthur until the queen could not take it.

This man sounded like an erotica writer rather than a composed king, but in that case Arthur was one of the readers that used the material to wank off.

_You will probably be angry with me, and I cannot blame you. I hope I have not made you uncomfortable, but I felt that you would not have minded if we had kissed some more – or snogged, as I recall your slang for it being. I certainly would like to repeat the occasion. Your beauty has left me breathless, my dear._

_If nothing else, I would like to write to you these informal letters in the future as well if you allow me to. I find myself immensely fascinated by you._

_With kisses, Francis Bonnefoy._

_P.S. The bird’s name is Pierre, and if you were so kind as to give him a bit of food, I would appreciate it._

Arthur closed his eyes, and tried his very best to not crumble the papers in his quivering fingers.

This man, Arthur thought in agony, this man was going to be the death of him.


	6. backdoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Correspondence ensues. Things escalate.

Francis was exhausted. Trips to the Kingdom of Hearts always left him in that state, mostly because the thought of Ludwig’s stiff and borderline oppressive insistency on punctuality and propriety made Francis cringe and mutter complaints under his breath even before meeting the King of Hearts again. Trust him on this one – complaining about someone was _taxing_ on one’s mental and physical stamina.

The thought of Arthur reading his letter reinvigorated Francis as he stepped into the room reserved for him at the inn Ludwig had chosen for the kings’ use during the conference. An idyllic countryside housing, rather homely and bleak, but Francis thought it had its own charm. Not unlike the Queen of Spades he had sent Pierre to, along with the letter that, uh, might not have been entirely proper in tone.

Watching the servants bring in his possessions, Francis smiled at the thought of Arthur responding to the letter. It might be sarcastic, and more than likely a denial of the events ever having taken place, if Francis’ evaluation of Arthur’s character was right. Francis was hardly ever wrong about people, so he was confident about this.

Yet, Francis hoped Arthur wouldn’t deny the attraction that had been so obvious to the both of them at the ball. It had been tangible, _palpable_ around them already during the first dance, when Francis had laid his hand on Arthur’s hip and felt Arthur’s hand in his. Not to mention those _eyes_ : green like a forest in the middle of summer, they had sparkled with suppressed delight and more obvious annoyance as well as low-temperature want. The memory of the latter one made Francis’ toes curl in his shoes.

Though, Francis had to admit it, he _was_ weak for pretty people, although sometimes the beauty was far from conventional.

And Arthur _was_ pretty, especially in that indigo dress that showed his natural curves accentuated further by the corset. Francis wished he had something other than his memory to rely on; something other than the mental images of how the fabric felt against the tips of his fingers as he helped the corset off of Arthur’s midriff.

“Oi.”

Ah, Francis would not mind spending a hot night with the Spades’ queen, no. The thought brought a grin to his face and a pleasant heat to his lower stomach as he contemplated it further.

“Francis, you shitfaced _moron,_ listen to me when I’m talking to you!” A harsh tug by his ear forced Francis to abandon the increasingly dirty thoughts about Arthur and look up at his jack, who stood before him with an intimidating frown glued to his features.

Ah, Vash. Always ready to ruin Francis’ fantasies.

“No need to be so violent, my dear Jack,” Francis muttered as Vash let go of the abused earlobe. “I heard you fine the first time.”

“Obviously you did not.” Vash’s scowl was a semi-permanent expression on him – the only time it fully went away was when he was near his beloved sister, Francis’ arranged wife and the Queen of Diamonds. It was adorable, Francis thought more often than not, but Vash’s harsh attitude in other areas was a bit off-putting.

“Fine, fine, you have my attention now,” Francis chuckled and raised his hands up in surrender. “What is it, Vash?”

“As I was saying,” Vash grunted, “your pet bird came back. Well-fed, it appears, because he didn’t start eating the sunflower seeds I left for him. A letter for you along with it.”

 _That was faster than I thought it would be,_ Francis mused, awestruck as Vash handed the folded papers.

“You did not read them, did you?” Francis grinned, eyes sparkling and teeth glinting under the light the oil lamps scattered on the room’s surfaces cast.

Vash rolled his eyes as he shoved the papers to Francis’ lap. “Please, as if I need to know about your newest conquest. Just try not to embarrass us all, would you? Lili’s a good sport about your… relations with others, but I _will_ kill you if it comes down to it.”

“Always so kind,” Francis teased his Jack, laughter obvious in his voice as he settled back on his bed and looked at the papers he wanted desperately to read. “Ah, though… would you mind leaving me alone for a bit, Vash? I would like to read these. Come get me when the dinner is ready.”

“As you wish,” Vash said with obvious sarcasm and another roll of his eyes – green, like Arthur’s, but a few shades lighter – before turning and stomping his way out of the cozy room. Francis stared at this rebellious departure with upturned lips.

When the door was closed – slammed, really – Francis finally dared to unfold the papers that contained Arthur’s response to him.

_King of Diamonds,_

_I am appalled by the contents of your letter. Not only were you overly straightforward with your intentions, but you also made me recall the horrible lapse in sanity I had at that ball. I cannot blame you for the said lapse however – I am as much at fault, for giving into that burning want you lit inside me._

Francis’ eyes widened. This was much better than he could have imagined the letter to be; while Arthur _was_ appalled by Francis’ straightforwardness, he was just as honest about his own part in what had happened. Francis’ lips quirked up, amused as he imagined Arthur’s brows furrowing in irritation while writing this.

_You wrote to me about my beauty and how breathless it left you; I can only gather that you want me between your sheets and beneath you again. You mentioned something about attraction, as well, and I cannot deny that. Denying it would be foolish, because I was the one begging you to kiss me amidst peonies. I’m afraid I would have allowed things to escalate from there, too; I should not admit to this, but I am rather repressed in that area._

_I think I understand now how one-night rendezvouses come to be: when the spark of attraction is born, it’s impossible to extinguish it if one does not have the experience or will. I barely had the latter that night in the garden, when you touched me and we kissed. Had we been anywhere else, I might have given in to you, Francis Bonnefoy._

Francis shuddered as he reread the last few lines. He had not expected this, but perhaps Arthur was the type to pour his honesty into letters rather than into vocal proclamations. Francis closed his eyes for a moment as he pictured Arthur’s face, the stiff lips and the glimmering eyes.

“Oh, dear,” he murmured to himself before opening his eyes to continue reading the letter that had his heart pounding with excitement.

_I do not know if you are seeking for an easy lay or not, because surely there are plenty of people that would enjoy the delights your body is sure to give (notice the sarcasm here, Bonnefoy) closer to home than in the dreary Kingdom of Spades. There’s a part of me that does not care whether that’s the case. That part of me would not mind finding pleasure in you, pleasure **with** you. This is difficult for me to admit, and if you ever bring this up when we inevitably meet again, I will hurt you. No matter how good a dancer you are._

_Another part of me worries the scandal this… thing could lead to. It would bring shame on me and my family. It could lead into a war at worst, though I doubt my King is that eager for it despite his youth and naivety._

_I do not know how to explain this attraction that I felt towards you; I dare not call it lust, despite how my thoughts have been wandering to that kiss and those dances we shared. The best four dances of my life, Francis; be proud to hold the title of the best partner I have had… so far._

_To summarize, I suppose I would not mind if these letters were to continue, but you should realize that if anyone were to find the letters you may write to me in future, it will be very shameful for both you and I. If you are hoping to hold this against me as blackmail, however, you will be sorely disappointed and undoubtedly ruin the relations between our kingdoms._

_With love (not quite), Arthur Kirkland._

_P.S. Your messenger pigeon is quite infuriating; he takes after someone, obviously._

Francis smiled so hard he was afraid his face would get stuck like that, and he could not explain even to himself what it was that amused him so much about Arthur’s letter. Perhaps it was the splotches of ink at certain more intimate parts, a telltale sign of Arthur hesitating on whether to write honestly or not.

Francis wanted to write a response immediately, and so he went to the sole desk in the room and gathered the writing tools set aside the wooden surface: a quill and a bottle of black ink as well as several pieces of paper. Strangely enough, this part of seducing a person never ceased to thrill him as much as the actual act of love-making.

 _Oh, Arthur._ Francis’ eyes narrowed into slits as he smiled at the soon to be filled whiteness of paper.

*

_Dearest Arthur,_

_I see you made no effort to reproach me for using your name so familiarly, so I shall keep doing it then. Joyfully, of course, because even aside from the kissing incident, I think of you as an interesting person – or as interesting as one can find a person they have met once. Which, as you will learn, is **incredibly** so._

_I acknowledge your worries as valid, but at the same time I must raise a point: surely you know of the Clubs’ Jack and Queen? They have been fooling around for years now, stealing kisses and nights when they think no one sees them. They are quite a well-known couple amongst the noble society, and no one has batted an eye at it. It can be done, and it can be done well if one is intent on gaining pleasure._

_And, as you yourself said, you and I are not reluctant to find that pleasure with and in each other. The prospect of touching you intimately leaves me breathless; the thought of kissing your lips again even more so. This is what passion feels like, to me, and perhaps to you as well, my dear. This is a subject I will be glad to educate you on if you wish me to. I make a good teacher._

_There is nothing wrong with following the desires of one’s body or heart; it is just as human as any act of kindness and compassion we can commit. You felt it, did you not? That pure flicker of desire that led us to our compromising position. I feel it now as I write this, as I think of you in your midnight dress. Ah, how I wish you were here with me now! This attraction needn’t be rationalized. But I am getting ahead of myself now; it would be rather straightforward of me to go further, now wouldn’t it?_

_Still, my lips yearn for yours; I will admit that greed may very well be my deathly sin, but I do not mind it much._

_With more kisses, Francis Bonnefoy._

_P.S. I’m glad you took well to Pierre; he will continue to deliver these confessions of my admittedly indecent desires. (But where is the fun in decency?)_

*

It was the middle of the night when Arthur read Francis’ response, the moon offering enough light for him to read the pieces of papers he held in his trembling hands. Pierre, the disgustingly chipper pigeon, made himself at home in the balcony where Arthur had left sunflower seeds.

Arthur swallowed thickly as he reread certain sentences Francis had written.

“’My lips yearn for yours’?” he muttered, face flushing. “What is he, a romance author?”

The letter’s contents were ridiculous, and definitely something straight from a romance novel, and yet Arthur found that Francis’ words made sense to him. That would have been a terrifying realization if Arthur wasn’t aware of just how strong the attraction between them had been.

How strong it was even now, if Francis’ words were anything to go by, not to mention Arthur’s hot cheeks and knotted stomach.

And Francis’ flippant attitude towards the possibility of a scandal did put him at ease, which gave way to the wave of want that tugged at the corners of his mind now as he glanced through the letter yet again. Francis had a way with words, certainly. Quite a few had probably fallen for him for that reason alone, and that thought gave Arthur peace with himself.

He wrote his response to Francis quickly and with an unsteady wrist as he battled with himself on how to put his thoughts and his desire into coherent words. He was better at expressing himself on paper than vocally, but he was even better at expressing himself with actions rather than words.

He would have kissed Francis right then, if he’d had the chance.

*

_To Francis,_

_I shall address you by your given name as you have opted to do with me, then. I have to be honest, once again, and this is more than I thought I was even capable of: your letter renewed that flicker you call passion in me. Perhaps it should be called lust in this case, because this want boils in my veins and it will not let me rest. The blame is on you, but should you be anything more than irritatingly pleased with yourself, I would be surprised._

_You talk about touching me intimately with such effortless carelessness that it both astounds and arouses me. I remember your hand on my hip, your eyes on my face, and that grin on your face that now makes me want to pummel you. I remember the proximity, the heat of your body against mine, and another couple of details that I should let go lest I wish to go mad._

_If your lips yearn for mine, then mine burn to meet yours again. Against my own will and sanity, I might add, because this is simply not healthy for my mind. Yet, now I find myself in this peculiar position of wishing a touch that I have denied myself from having for so long. Alfred and I do not sleep together, and I suppose you and your Queen do not, either. But this has not bothered me much before, though there was much that kept me busy and away from thoughts and affairs like these._

_And here I am now, alone in my chambers and in my castle, thinking of you and your touch. These thoughts consume me for this moment, and my fingers tremble to touch myself in ways that are not to be described here. I cannot bring myself to care enough to loathe myself, either; this is what you have done to me, this is what the memory of your lips does to me._

_Good morning; I know you will not see this before the morning comes, hours after this despicable outburst of passion that has taken over me for the time being._

_I hope you are proud of yourself._

_Best wishes, Arthur Kirkland._

_P.S. I happened to catch the Queen and the Jack of Clubs in action myself the day of their departure from here; I cannot say I understand their love, but they seemed happy in the most improper way possible._

_P.S.S. You are the worst kind of human being there is._

*

Francis only managed to read Arthur’s response after breakfast and a short time before the meeting would begin – and he was glad he had had the decency to not take the letter to the breakfast table and read it there, because his reaction would undoubtedly have been the same as it was now.

It was best if no one saw the King of Diamonds so flustered, after all.

Arthur, that little _devil_. Francis had not expected this type of letter so soon, even though he himself had been painfully close to writing one himself the previous evening.

 _This is what you have done to me,_ Arthur’s letter claimed, and Francis could not read that part without swallowing and inwardly writhing as his mind offered a helpful image to accompany Arthur’s promiscuous words.

He wished he had enough time to write a response, because this kind of teasing should not go unpunished. Now Francis would suffer with this warmth pooled into this lower stomach for who knew how long, though Ludwig’s speeches would probably succeed in killing any sort of excitement that Francis was feeling.

Pulling himself mentally together, Francis slid the letter into the inside pocket of his gold-adorned cloak he would wear for the occasion just as Vash knocked on his door and let himself in. Vash always got increasingly ruder the longer he was away from his sister’s side.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be to listen to Ludwig go on and on about the importance of balancing the trades between the Four Kingdoms equally,” Francis said dryly, rolling his eyes as he felt himself shrink in his pants. Just the _thought_ of it was enough to undo the damage caused by Arthur.

Ah. He must get back at Arthur.

*

_Dear Arthur._

_You call me the worst kind of human there is, but what your letter did to me is outright cruel; I have not subjected you to such tortuous flames of Hell, have I? Unless my handsome face is enough to cause that, which I would very much understand._

_I think of your eyes glazed with passion now as the meeting between us kings is on a break. I think of kissing your lips, which breathe out my name with reverence; I think about your legs draped around my waist. Pleasing images as they are, it is cruel that they are not reality._

_I want to see you; will you come to meet me after these negotiations are over and done with? There is an uninhabited house some way into my kingdom from our shared border._

_You do not need to heed this request, if you feel uneasy about it._

_Kisses, Francis._

*

_To Francis,_

_I will come, if you give me the time and proper directions. Should it be longer than half a day’s journey away, then I might have some trouble, but I will deal with that if it comes down to it._

_I cannot write more now, but I trust you know what I want to say already._

_Best regards, Arthur._


	7. big bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Francis' rendezvous. Sex occurs - as expected.

He had told Yao and Alfred that he was going to see his parents for a few days, since it had been far too long since the last time. (Several months, even; he had not seen them since the wedding.) And while it was a weak lie at best – Arthur’s family life was a tad complicated – Yao and Alfred swallowed it up with understanding nods. The journey to Hearts and back might have worn them out enough to not detect the lie in Arthur’s words… not to mention the underlying anticipation that shook Arthur inside out.

He took his horse, Bess, which surprised absolutely no one as Arthur often preferred to ride himself when he traveled alone. Francis’ latest letter was safely tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the rest of them were safely locked away in his chambers. Arthur had tied the key to his bracelet, whose weight he felt on his wrist as he adjusted the reins and encouraged Bess to start the about half-a-day journey to the cottage that Francis had described to him.

Arthur loved horse-riding almost as much as he loved the scent of the sea, which he had not caught a whiff of for several years now. So horse-riding (as well as fencing) was one of the best accessible recreational activities in his life, and Arthur enjoyed it to the fullest even now as he tried to hurry Bess’ steps towards his destination without exhausting her strength _too_ much.

The hours were excruciating: his thoughts lingered much more on Francis than his own kingdom, and his body reacted accordingly to such, skin tingling with anticipation as he finally crossed the border to the Diamonds’ kingdom.

“Thank you, Bess,” he crooned to his loyal mare, patting the side of her neck as he allowed her to change pace from gallop to a slow trot. “You’ll get to rest again soon, I promise.”

Animals often made better friends than any of humankind, and Bess was no exception to this rule. Arthur smiled softly as he glanced around him. The forest he found himself in didn’t have major differences to the forests in Spades’ lands, but he did catch sight of few specimens of flora that he had not seen anywhere but illustration books.

Arthur could not help but smile. The sunshine that filtered through the thickets of leaves above him cast beautiful flickers of light in the foliage below Bess’ hooves. Green glimmered, yellow petals shone, orange feathers fluttered.

Yet even nature could not calm his nerves as he found the path Francis had indicated would lead to the house Francis and he would undoubtedly utilize for a spectacular round of releasing pent-up frustrations, courtesy of their correspondence.

Taking a deep breath in, Arthur unmounted Bess when he caught sight of the small stables. He would walk the rest of the way once he had unsaddled the lass. Bess was quiet and compliant as Arthur did so, and Arthur patted her again once the restrictive equipment was off of her and she in a stall inside the stables.

“Thank you,” he murmured again as he watched her lean down to start munching on the wheat prepared for her arrival.

And then he left, anticipation gripping him again. Francis, whose letters promised so much, was waiting for him.

*

Arthur was surprised to see that Francis’ cottage really was a _cottage_ in the meaning of the word: small and idyllic, bare from excessive decorations that he had expected from someone as flamboyant and colourful as Francis. Wooden structure in the middle of a forest, however, might just fit someone’s definition of _romantic_ , and Arthur supposed that was the purpose behind it.

Francis appeared to be a hopeless romantic, after all.

Arthur swallowed when he caught a glimpse of someone leaning on the railing of the cottage’s small veranda. Blond hair was bright enough to work as a beacon amidst the beams of sunlight coming through the forest foliage.

A memory of Francis’ face flashed through his mind with terrifying clarity, but now he wouldn’t have to rely on his memories from almost a week ago.

Arthur’s breath hitched when he got closer and finally caught sight of Francis in all his glory. Blond hair ran free, touching his shoulders, and blue eyes shone tantalizing light as they watched Arthur to step up to the veranda.

“I must say, I’m rather disappointed that you’re not wearing a dress for this occasion,” Francis contemplated out loud, his voice deeper than what Arthur recalled it being, as he turned completely towards Arthur. The pale gold-coloured shirt was untucked and partially unbuttoned, revealing bits and bits of Francis’ chest. Arthur’s eyes flicked back up to Francis’ face – stupid, attractive face that he had been wanting to kiss again and again…

Arthur cleared his throat. “Those are for balls and other _official_ occasions, Francis. Also, it would be rather difficult to ride a horse all the way from my capital to here.”

Francis’ grin was wide and lecherous as he gestured Arthur to come closer. “It wouldn’t have hindered you riding _another_ type of stallion, however.”

Arthur’s face flushed furiously as he coyly followed the invitation. “Firstly, Bess is no stallion; secondly, your mind is _incorrigible_.”

Francis’ hands found Arthur’s hips and pulled him close into Francis’ personal space. Blue and green eyes stared into one another. And then, Francis spoke, low and seductive. “How could it not be, after what you have suggested in your letters, my dear?”

Both hands rubbed at the fabric of Arthur’s trousers as he continued, directly quoting Arthur’s letters, “ _And here I am now, alone in my chambers and in my castle, thinking of you and your touch,_ you wrote to me, Arthur. _These thoughts consume me for this moment—“_

Francis lips hovered over Arthur’s, breathing the words against the other’s mouth as desire crackled in the air between them.  “— _and my fingers tremble to touch myself in ways that are not to be described here._ ”

Arthur shuddered, eyelids fluttering as he tried to not give into the want that howled with him to kiss Francis, to touch him like he had fantasized doing in the darkness of his chambers. Francis’ words and hands were b enough to incite this want, _need_ , but Francis’ cologne was the absolute worst, filling Arthur’s senses to the point of overwhelming them.

“Tell me, Arthur,” Francis purred as he turned them so that he could press Arthur’s back against the door of the cottage, “did you truly touch yourself to the thought of me?”

Arthur finally found his voice, though the look in Francis’ eyes had his knees (and the rest of him) weak. Hoarsely, he asked, “Do you think I would lie, Francis?”

Francis’ eyes narrowed further as they regarded Arthur, lips parting—

“I did,” Arthur breathed out, warmth coiling inside him at the expression that crossed Francis’ face. Lust, _this_ was pure lust, and Arthur felt it within himself as he continued breathlessly, “I have—I have touched myself while thinking of you.”

Before Arthur could continue – because _damn_ if watching Francis’ reactions wasn’t amusing for him as well as extremely arousing – Francis finally took the initiative and closed the distance between them, his mouth pressing fully against Arthur’s parted lips.

Francis stole Arthur’s breath right out of my with that single movement, stunning him for a brief moment before Arthur remembered how to use his arms again and throwing them around Francis’ neck as he pushed himself into the kiss.

Wanton and so very needy for the heat of Francis’ mouth, Arthur could not feel any remorse no matter how indecent his behavior was. Eyes tightly shut, he reveled in the feeling of Francis’ eager mouth moving against his – kneading, pushing, and nipping. The combination of it sent shudders through Arthur’s spine and heat down to his belly.

Arthur let Francis’ tongue to worm itself way into his mouth, but not without a strangled moan against Francis’ unbearably hot mouth. Amid these sensations, Francis’ hands were squeezing him and only adding oil to the fire.

Francis tilted his head, breaking away from the kiss they both needed air, but his hands did not move away from Arthur’s rear, where they had relocated. Arthur’s eyelids fluttered open with difficulty as he caught his breath. “Fran-“

“You have no idea,” Francis murmured, gaze heavy and half-lidded, “how much I wanted to leave the negotiations for you.”

“You have your priorities mixed up,” Arthur said thickly, much more weakly than he’d have liked, but at least he managed to smirk at the other. “Did I rile you up _that_ badly, Francis?”

“Need I remind you,” Francis whispered, squeezing one of Arthur’s buttocks and earning a quiet yelp, “what you wrote to me, my dear? Such seductive language for someone that was bent on holding onto propriety before…”

“The blame is on you just as much,” Arthur groaned, bucking his hips away from Francis’ grabby hands and against Francis’ groin instead. Both their breaths hitched in immediate reaction. Arthur repeated the action, eyes narrowing as he grunted, “You were the one to seduce me. And you _did_ bring up the incident in your first letter; how was I supposed to resist?” _I didn’t even_ want _to resist in the first place._

“And,” Arthur added after a breathy moan, “your letters… were just as suggestive.”

“I can’t refute that,” Francis agreed, his hands trembling against Arthur’s buttocks, as they ground against each other. Arthur’s head tilted back, pushing up against the surface of the door as he groaned again. Francis took the chance to press his mouth onto Arthur’s neck, alternating between kissing and sucking at the pale, unblemished skin whilst rocking their hips together.

“Fran— Francis,” Arthur whimpered, eyes closed again as pleasure flooded him. “N-no marks, don’t—“

Francis gently bit down on the skin, under which Arthur’s pulse raced, before sucking harder at the violated patch of skin. Arthur sighed, sounding far more pleased than what he had intended, but at least he managed to tug Francis’ head away from his neck by pulling at the soft curls of blond hair.

“Ow, _ow,_ save that for later—“

“Let’s move this away from here,” Arthur mumbled incoherently before peppering kisses Francis’ lips. “Surely you have a _bed_ inside, Francis.”

“Ah—“ Francis grinned devilishly. “Yes, you are right. Shall we?”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur sighed, ignoring the prickling arousal that stormed inside him stronger than before. Oh, God, what had he got himself into?

But there was no room for regret anymore.

*

They somehow managed to struggle their way into the cottage’s sole bedroom, but not without being all over each other. The _need_ for the other’s hands on them was overwhelming, and it cast away thoughts of outside world. Leaving only _here_ and _now_ once the most hindering articles of clothing had been cast aside – Arthur’s jacket and both their shoes lay haphazardly in some part of the building.

Arthur barely registered any of the few pieces of furniture asides from the bed, which he was laid down on soon. Even that realization was short-lived as Francis climbed over him, hands pulling Arthur’s shirt off completely before throwing it away.

“Mmm,” Arthur hummed against Francis’ lips as he rubbed the back of Francis’ neck and using his other hand to tug at the collar of Francis’ shirt. Breaking the kiss, he gasped, “Francis— oh god—“ _I want you—I want you—_

Francis’ hand ran up Arthur’s side, over the tensing muscles and the dips beneath ribs. Caressing, sweeping the skin with hurried movements as they both panted.

Francis’ laughter sent Arthur deeper into his own personal hell that took its form in Francis Bonnefoy. “I am many things, but a god I am not, dear.”

“Stop _babbling_ ,” Arthur growled as he shakily started to remove the button-up shirt from Francis. At least he hadn’t been in his more royal get-up; _that_ would have been a pain to undress Francis out of. Pushing Francis up until he was sitting on his knees, hands away from Arthur’s sides, Arthur finally tugged the piece of clothing off the gorgeous man.

Well-toned chest, well-shaped arms; beneath his well-tailored clothes, Francis was just as gorgeous as his face suggested. Arthur found himself entranced, rooted on the spot on the bed even as he was aware of how tight his trousers were from the groin by now.

Francis smiled, his tousled hair like a halo around his face. Their previous hurry forgotten, he leaned forward to touch Arthur’s face gently, fingertips soft against the peak of Arthur’s cheekbone.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and his voice was like the gentlest touch of a feather. Fingertips ran down Arthur’s jawbone, stopping at the peak of his chin to tilt Arthur’s head up – and Francis’ lips met Arthur’s briefly, gingerly. _You’re beautiful_ , Francis’ touch assured him, and if this was how the man treated all his lovers, Arthur knew they had been very happy for however little time they spent with Francis.

Francis leaned back, lids drooped halfway over his blue eyes as the same smile played on the peculiar curve of his mouth.

“You—“ Arthur’s voice was but a raspy whisper as he found talking to be quite the taxing tax, and he trembled on the spot with the desire he was completely aware of again. “I need—“

“Me, yes?” Francis’ smile turned into a feral grin in the blink of an eye, and now he was the one to push Arthur back onto the mattress rather than up from it this time.

With a sound resembling the deepest, most content purr a cat could produce, Francis said into Arthur’s ear, “I will take good care of you, so don’t worry about a single thing, Arthur.”

“Shut it—“ Arthur groaned, embarrassed by himself as his body writhed beneath Francis’, whose hands had started to undo Arthur’s trousers with nimble fingers and swift movements. Fingers brushed against Arthur’s concealed cock more than once, hitching Arthur’s breath in his throat.

Francis’ breathless chuckle gave him away: it was intentional.

“Francis,” Arthur moaned, bringing his knee up between Francis’ legs to express his displeasure with the other’s teasing.

“Arthur,” Francis returned, voice rising at the end in pitch as Arthur’s knee rubbed him. “Settle down, dear; I can’t do much if you keep this up, pleasing as it is.”

Glaring up, impatient and needy, Arthur set his leg down as Francis helped him to lift his hips so that he could slide the trousers and the underpants off his legs easily. Once those and Arthur’s socks were off, Francis threw them aside just as carelessly as they had discarded their shirts a few moments before.

“Mmm,” Francis hummed thoughtfully as he kissed up Arthur’s thigh, looking up to inspect the flustered expression that crossed Arthur’s heat-flushed face. “You are so hard already. Are you quite alright?”

Arthur’s face twisted at the teasing words, and Francis’ grin stretched before pressing another kiss to the side of Arthur’s knee.

“Arthur…” he continued before Arthur could retort at him to resume, blue eyes wide as they gauged Arthur’s reactions. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Arthur snorted, sounding delirious and certainly feeling like it now that he had been denied the rush of Francis’ touch. “You can’t be _that_ dim, Francis.”

“Mmm. I appreciate verbal affirmations,” Francis said, kissing up Arthur’s thigh.

“As if you haven’t got that already,” Arthur muttered, sounding thoroughly flustered as he moaned at Francis’ teeth tugging at his skin. “Oh, _hell_ , yes, I am sure—just get _on_ with it—“

“As you wish,” Francis chuckled, but did a very poor job at hiding the thrill Arthur’s words had stirred in him as he moved his face to Arthur’s groin and let his breath fan at the sensitive flesh.

“You _tease_ ,” Arthur bemoaned, hands relocating themselves into Francis’ hair.

“You started it, _mon cher_ ,” Francis purred as he descended down on the hardened cock.

*

Francis’ mouth wasn’t only good for empty chatter; Arthur realized this yet again as Francis’ mouth had enveloped his cock, a flexible tongue immediately moving to tease the head.

It didn’t take much for Arthur to lose himself into the stimulation, and all coherency was torn away from his grasp as Francis sucked him, his head bobbing between Arthur’s quivering legs. Too slow, too tortuous, but still so _so_ good that Arthur got close to ejaculating in a matter of mere moments.

It took him a bit of effort to manage a semi-coherent, “Fra—Fran—I’m—“

Francis hummed as he pulled back a bit to look up from between Arthur’s legs. A kind smile completely unfitting for the occasion graced his features, and Arthur flinched as though he had been burned by it.

“That’s alright; come, if you need to,” Francis murmured, voice thick and raspy, before he went back to his work, this time also massaging Arthur’s balls with tips of his fingers – light, light, so terribly light to Arthur’s pleasure-muddled senses. Added together with Francis’ lips and tongue around his arousal, Arthur felt like he was going to burst from the inside from the sheer blood-curdling passion that the man elicited in him.

Francis mouth took him in further, tongue rubbing up and down with religious dedication to pleasure Arthur, and Arthur’s back arched as his lips parted from the force of his moan. Fingers clenched around the white sheets, Arthur’s whole body gave a visible shudder as he climaxed into the warm mouth that had been waiting for just that.

Arthur just barely heard Francis shuffling back and _swallowing_ the load with a loud gulp while Arthur panted and tried to gather his wits and breathe.

Arthur wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or a little turned on by it, so he opted the former option.

“Don’t do something disgusting like that,” he muttered as soon as he was able to with his shaky voice, still trembling from the aftermath of Francis undoing him. Eyes barely open, he regarded Francis and at the bulge in his trousers in particular.

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” Francis purred as he pointedly pulled himself up to his knees, fingers working deftly to finish undressing himself. “Are you up for round two?”

“The first round is nowhere near over,” Arthur snapped weakly, watching as more of Francis’s kin came to view – including his erection. Arthur’s eyes widened, his breath hitched in agitation. “Have you no _shame_? No undergarments, really?”

“Around you, I simply cannot help myself,” Francis teased as he stood up from the bed so that he could kick the trousers off completely. In doing so, Franicis allowed Arthur to catch sight of his well-formed backside: there was his arse, yes, but also muscular back that left Arthur gaping at the dips and ripples of muscles.

Francis glanced over his shoulder, and Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in time. Francis smirked. “You like the sight, yes?”

Arthur smiled devilishly. “Why, yes. I cannot wait to have you all over me again.”

“And you call _me_ a tease,” Francis retorted, grinning as he hopped back onto the mattress and crawled over Arthur. Before the other could answer to that, Francis pressed their mouths together, slowly sliding their tongues together and letting Arthur have a taste of the remaining semen on Francis’ lips.

Arthur wrinkled his nose in distaste, but relaxed into the kiss soon regardless when Francis’ hands went back to massaging Arthur’s sweat-dampened skin.

*

“I, ah—“ Arthur started as Francis’ lips patiently trailed down Arthur’s stomach, inspecting each dip and rise of skin with attentive intention and hunger that was obvious in Francis’ touch. Francis’ desire was _intoxicating_ , to the point where Arthur’s cock started to stir again.

“Mm?”

Arthur sighed, toes curling as Francis’ mouth peppered kisses over his chest. “I haven’t… had penetrative sex before—“

Francis glanced up from Arthur’s skin, where he had left plenty of love bites despite Arthur’s incoherent protests. The gentle smile from before made its appearance again on Francis’ face, eyes crinkling and lips curling.

“Not even with your King?” Perhaps an unwarranted question, but humans could hardly resist their curiosities.

“Alfred and I don’t—“ Arthur flushed, looking away as he bit at his lower lip. “We _don’t_ have sex of any kind, if you must know.”

“That explains your frustrations, then,” Francis hummed, not bothered in the least as he tugged at a neglected nipple with his fingers. Arthur grunted, if not outright whimpered, in reaction, the sound weak and silent as Arthur kept on biting his lip.

Francis sighed, pinching at the nipple harder and pushing his groin down against Arthur’s. This time, Arthur moaned, the sound raspy and increasingly wanton.

Francis _reveled_ in it.

“You needn’t worry, _mon petit chou_ ,” he said, and kissed Arthur’s collarbone. “I’ll take good care of you, like I said before.”

Another kiss, this time over the forming bruise on Arthur’s neck. Luckily not a place so visible that the collar of Arthur’s shirt would not cover it.

The stiffness on Arthur’s muscles eased at Francis’ words. Good, Francis thought as he continued the trail of lingering kisses over Arthur’s complying body while his hand blindly reached for the nightstand beside the bed. Somehow he managed to pull open the drawer and reach the container of nature-scented lube he kept there for these occasions.

He had entertained the thought of intercourse with Arthur several times during the dull moments during the negotiations with the other monarchs, especially whenever the youthful king from Spades spoke, either against Ivan or Francis himself. It was immoral, certainly, because while Francis was certainly _vindictive_ when provoked, he was not inclined to bring the matters of heart up and play with them.

Yet, Francis had looked at Alfred and thought of nothing but Arthur – Arthur, who had hinted at having an equally romance-lacking marriage as himself; Arthur, who had written such provocative letters that left Francis’ skin a little too warm and trousers definitely too tight as Francis was unfortunately easy to rile up.

Alfred was very different from his spouse, but it was impossible to evade the thought of Arthur when Alfred grinned and spoke of things he might be too young to fully grasp – or perhaps too ignorant, as Francis himself had decided at some point. Not that Francis had much to base that opinion on since his thoughts had trailed often to Arthur and his lips and how it would feel to push himself into the other’s slender body.

Francis shuddered, removing himself from his recollections of the incredibly boring meeting as he rubbed a gracious amount of lube on his fingers while gesturing for Arthur to spread his legs wider. He wouldn’t have to imagine it anymore as he was about to experience it himself.

And, ah, did Arthur look delectable while writhing against the mattress like he was unsure what to do with himself and his rejuvenated erection. He did spread his legs when told to, and Francis swallowed at the unintended eroticism of Arthur’s uncoordinated movements: quivering breaths, slowly blinking eyelids, trembling thighs that enticed Francis.

Francis slowly inched a finger inside Arthur, eyes never moving away from Arthur’s face as they took in his reaction to the movement. Arthur’s breathing quickened, the pink colour on his face darkening a few shades as he wiggled his hips to get comfortably. No pain, at least; Francis exhaled in relief as he wriggled his fingers tentatively.

Arthur whined, but he said nothing as his eyes focused on Francis’.

Francis added in another finger, trying not to think too much about how wonderful Arthur felt around his flesh. Arthur exhaled slower, a slight wrinkle between his brows as Francis’ fingers moved inside him, curling and stretching and—

Arthur’s head pressed back into a pillow as a short, unashamed moan left him. Francis shivered at the vocal appreciation of his fingers’ actions; more precum leaked down his pulsing length as he inhaled in feeble attempt at composing himself.

Moving his fingers faster, he watched in trance-like fascination as Arthur writhed with need. It was a sight straight from a dream, except much better and _real_. And those sounds – oh, _oh_. Francis grunted as he shoved his fingers deeper into Arthur, earning a louder moan and a buck of Arthur’s hips.

A moan of Francis’ name, for that matter, and though it was not the _first_ that evening, it managed to fluster Francis regardless.

The third finger followed the two others to stretch Arthur further, and the effect on Arthur was breathtaking as he began to thrust himself against Francis’ digits – clumsily, admittedly, but well enough to earn a breathy moan from Francis in return.

Arthur had made his desire for Francis obvious, in the garden and in the letters and right _now_ , but it was still wonderful to see him reacting so strongly. Francis couldn’t say _why_ – perhaps he simply liked to unwind the repressed type and render them into moaning messes – but the _why_ s could always wait for a later time as he had a body to worship, a beauty to celebrate.

“Francis,” Arthur hissed as he bucked harder, “stop it with the—the--- _fingers_ , and just—“

The shudder that went through Francis at Arthur’s tone was too strong for Francis to ignore, and so he complied but not without a teasing remark, “I will give you what you need in a moment, darling, just hold on.”

Arthur gasped softly when the fingers left him, but he still managed to throw an angrily lustful glare at Francis.

“You’re only exciting me further with that kind of expression,” Francis smirked as he gripped the container again and started to spread lube over his cock. Arthur watched him, biting at his lower lips but that did nothing to stop his pupils from dilating wider with utter and complete want.

Done with lubing himself, Francis shifted their positions until he was aligned with Arthur’s entrance and Arthur’s legs propped up by his arms.

“Try to breathe steadily,” he advised Arthur, breathing the words against his lips as he slowly pushed himself inside Arthur.

His immediate reaction was to groan as more of his cock met with Arthur’s tight inside, followed by a breathy, “Are you doing alright, _cher_?”

Arthur’s face had scrunched up, lips parted Arthur breathed harshly and brow wrinkled with discomfort. Eyes dazed, for a moment he could not hold eye contact with Francis.

“Arthur?”

Arthur’s mouth twitched, eyelids fluttering. “Y-yes, I’m alright.”

Francis waited for a moment for the tension to dissipate from Arthur’s features; as much as he wanted to move deeper, he could not risk to hurt the beautiful man below him. Even his incredibly thick eyebrows looked beautiful now—

Ahhh, he wanted to move _so badly_ —

Arthur bucked his hips, a quiet hiss leaving his mouth. “ _Move_.”

“Arthur—“

“I told you to _move_ ,” Arthur rasped, his hands tugging Francis down for a short but heated kiss. Afterwards softer, even more passionate words were whispered against Francis’ mouth, “I want you so much, so— _please_ —“

For someone as prideful as Arthur appeared to be, this was very close to pleading – _very_ close.

With a groan, Francis threw himself into another kiss as he pressed deep into Arthur in one impatient move from his hips. The groan against his mouth made Francis grin in dark delight, and he repeated the action, though still slowly enough to make sure Arthur wasn’t hurt.

Arthur gasped, and it was his head tilting back that broke the kiss. His mouth still parted in a noiseless sound, Arthur’s hands gripped Francis’s shoulders harder, nails digging into tanned skin.

Francis barely noticed the pain; the tightness of Arthur’s muscles around him and the _heat_ —oh, how it all burned Francis up.

“So good,” he crooned against Arthur’s neck, “you feel so good, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath fanned the side of Francis’ head, at the golden hair, and the words murmured were almost lost amidst Francis’ curls. “Y-you too.”

Francis grinned, pulling out and thrusting back into Arthur in a swift movement. Arthur’s tension had melted away completely, as his whimpering moan attested.

How could Francis have thought that his imagination, despite it being vivid and awkwardly detailed, could match up to reality? Arthur’s cries and trembling body, his _heat_ – Francis had underestimated them all, even though he knew just how good _good_ sex could be.

Arthur’s legs hooked around his waist in attempt to bring Francis deeper and _keep_ him there, freeing Francis’ tiring arms.

The beginnings of Francis’ name kept spilling past Arthur’s mouth and into Francis’ ear; there was no word in Francis’ lust-clouded mind that could describe the sounds. He didn’t try. Instead he pounded harder into Arthur’s enveloping heat, pleased as Arthur’s keening voice went high when a particularly sensitive spot was touched.

So close, _so close_ to coming inside Arthur, whose neglected erection pressed up against their stomachs and bounced with their harsh movements.

“So good,” Francis repeated into Arthur’s ear before nipping at the ear, giving a particularly hard thrust against Arthur’s sensitive spot, “you’re _wonderful_ like this, Arthur; so hot—“ Another thrust. “—so sweet—“ Another nibble. “—so _magnificent_ —“

Arthur trembled against him, _around_ him; his voice shook as he encouraged Francis by nearly screaming his name, back arching up as he reached his climax just a bit before Francis, who had been desperate to try to make Arthur ejaculate before him.

Francis continued to murmur sweet encouragements to Arthur’s ear as they both rode through their orgasms, lips pressing against the flushed skin every now and then.

Settling over Arthur, chest against chest, Francis moved to kiss Arthur’s face even as they tried to catch their breaths after such an over-exertion of their bodies.

Arthur barely managed to tilt his head to meet Francis’ mouth for a short kiss, more tender than their previous ones.

“That,” Francis murmured after, “went beyond what I had imagined.”

Arthur’s eyelids drooped as he regarded Francis’ face – just as flushed as Arthur’s, Francis was sure.

“Yes,” Arthur slowly agreed, voice barely audible, “that was… quite… something.”

“You’re not as eloquent in person as in letters, huh?” Francis laughed, hand running up Arthur’s sweaty skin, and reveled in the shiver that followed his touch.  

“Shut up,” Arthur grunted as his hands returned to Francis’ damp hair and reverently caressed the curls. Francis purred, content to stay there with Arthur in post-orgasm exhaustion.

But he had to ask—

“When are they expecting you back?”

Arthur closed his eyes, lips stiffening into a thin line as reality seeped into their current moment. “The day after tomorrow at latest. I did promise to try to return tomorrow when Bess regained her strength.”

“So soon.”

“Unlike you,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I cannot spend much time on bodily pleasure.”

“That explains so much,” Francis snickered, kissing Arthur’s mouth before he could reply with a retort. Softly, he added against the swollen lips, “There is much fun in twisting the rules, don’t you think so?”

Arthur didn’t say anything to that; instead, he pulled Francis back down into a kiss as they both ignored that Francis had yet to pull himself out from Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so embarrassing to write, somehow; sex is always so difficult. sjkdhfjkghdfg


	8. playing one's hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their meeting comes to an end, but the desire doesn't.

“You don’t need to carry me, you fool,” Arthur complained, but made no effort to detach his arms from Francis’ shoulders as he was carried to the small bathroom in the cottage’s eastern side.

“I wouldn’t have to if you could walk on your own,” Francis teased the queen in his arms, flashing a disarming grin to the exhausted man clinging to him. “I’m surprised you didn’t fall asleep, since you certainly look worn-out.”

“Don’t be so damn smug about it,” Arthur muttered and buried his face into Francis’ bare chest that still reeked of sex. “Like I could sleep without properly bathing the… residue off.”

“Mmhm,” Francis hummed as he nuzzled at the top of Arthur’s head. “Luckily I prepared the bath for you before you arrived. It should still be hot enough.”

Entering the bathroom, it was obvious that Francis’ assumption was right: the hot steam hung in the air and Arthur sighed in contentment as Francis lowered him into the luxurious marble tub that was very out of place in otherwise modest house. The hot water was very welcome to his sore, stiffening muscles, and Arthur stretched himself before settling into the tub with his legs pulled up as he waited for Francis to join him.

Francis grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Arthur. “You want me to join in?”                  

“You would have to prepare more water for yourself otherwise,” Arthur offered as an explanation as he frowned up at Francis, corners of his mouth twitching as Francis’ expression softened. It did not make his stomach drop, no.

“How considerate of you,” Francis purred as he got into the tub, gently enough so he would not splash too much water. “Though I think you just wanted to share the tub with me, Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head, but he didn’t say anything to deny Francis’ assumption. There was only so much bickering he could summon his strength for after such a good round of sex.

Arthur didn’t struggle as Francis tugged him onto his lap, legs splayed around Francis’ waist.

“I’m really not up for another, Francis,” he warned as Francis hands squeezed his tender buttocks. Arthur winced at the pain that shot up his lower back, breath hitching as he squirmed to get comfortable again.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” Francis said, pressing a kiss against Arthur’s collarbone. When he looked up, his eyes glimmered – Arthur had half the mind to compare them to a gemstone, but he threw that particular simile away before he could come up with one. “I’m simply being affectionate now.”

“Sure,” Arthur said mildly but didn’t refuse Francis’ lips when they sought out his, and even closed his eyes and pressed forward into the light kiss. Francis’ mouth was still soft, still accommodating even as it stole the breath out of Arthur.

It was a short-lived brush of lips, and the following moment found Arthur staring at Francis’ face that glowed with immense self-satisfaction. How irritating, Arthur mused, and yet oddly captivating.

Francis’ hands moved up to the small of Arthur’s back, massaging the skin as the water splashed gently along the movement. _Obviously not trying to start anything, right._ Sighing quietly, Arthur leaned his forehead into Francis’ shoulder and gave into the relaxing atmosphere that surrounded them.

“I forgot to say before,” Francis murmured into Arthur’s hair, “but thank you for feeding Pierre so well when he brings my letters to you. He’s quite a dear pet to me.”

Arthur nodded, eyes closed as he rested himself in Francis’ hold. The hands kneading his skin relaxed him further, which might have been the point from the start.

Francis’ lips mouthed words against his head, some more audible than others and some distinctly sounding like a completely different language to Arthur’s weary mind.

“Let me wash you up, and then we can sleep,” were the more comprehensible words that Arthur caught and nodded his agreement to.

*

The following morning greeted Arthur with the early sun’s light against his face and warm, hairy arms wrapped around his middle as well as slight pain throbbing in his lower back. Arthur usually woke up fast and ready to face the day, but this time it took longer as his mind remained foggy and blank for a good few minutes. He was rather content being wrapped up in the arms a little more muscular than his own.

But soon he became aware of something pressing up against his thighs as well as the suffocating heat of Francis’ embrace.

Francis…

Arthur’s eyes snapped open as the memories from previous evening (or rather, later afternoon) ago returned to him in a sudden flash. Francis—and him—kissing and _fucking_ like they couldn’t control themselves—moans too lewd to recall and still manage to keep a poker face—

And that was Francis’ morning erection that was pressing up against Arthur’s thigh. The man was _insatiable_.

Though Arthur should not be the one to talk: heat was pooling dangerously close to his groin at that very moment as he recalled the most pleasuring aspects of the previous day. The aches in his body be damned, his cock reacted to the memories with too much eagerness.

Thankfully the churning hunger overrode the lewd memories, and made Arthur slowly undrape Francis’ arms while trying not to agitate Francis’ naked hard-on. Moving quietly was more difficult than Arthur had expected, and a low hiss escaped his lips as another spike of pain shot up his spine, this time stronger.

A few badly worded curses later Arthur found his shirt discarded over the chair beside a vanity desk and tugged it over himself. There might be no one around asides from miles of wilderness and its life, but Arthur preferred at least _some_ clothes to having none.

Now, where were his underpants…?

His stomach growling again, Arthur decided to leave the search for his pants and trousers for later and left the bedroom for the kitchen he was sure he had caught a glimpse of the day before when he had clumsily made out with Francis on their way to the bed. He glanced back at Francis’ sleeping figure, at the messy hair and relaxed posture, and couldn’t help but smile.

Why that was, he could not say, and he did not dwell on it as he closed the door behind him.

*

The cottage, now that Arthur had time to look around, was just as simple as the exterior had suggested and that was probably why Francis had chosen it in the first place, asides from its remote location in the woods. It was actually quite homely, much better than the cold stone walls of the Spades’ castle.

The kitchen was on the left from the entrance, where Arthur saw two pairs of boots laying haphazardly in different positions. Amusing testament to how much in a hurry they had been to feel up each other in all the ways.

The room was small and held only the essentials needed in a cottage as small as this: an oven, cupboards, and a few counters to prepare meals on as well as a table and a few chairs. The table and the chairs were at the center of the room while the oven and counters were pushed to the leftmost side of the room.

On one of the counters, there was a plate full of pastries, and beside it a handwritten note that Arthur went to inspect first.

_I did not have time to prepare proper food, I’m afraid; help yourself to the pastries, if you get hungry. –Francis._

Arthur hummed, turning his eyes to the pastries piled onto the translucent glass plate. They looked delicious, and Arthur’s stomach growled impatiently at the sight of frosting over the baked treats. Arthur picked up one of them carefully so he wouldn’t spread crumbs everywhere, and took a small bite.

_Oooohhhh._

If Francis had actually made them, then the man was a culinary genius as well as a brilliant lover. Both things that Arthur was incredibly inexperienced at, much to his own resentment.

Arthur ate the treat with much enjoyment, his free hand pressed up on the counter as he used the other to feed himself. Really, there was no way Francis had made them himself, Arthur thought to himself as he licked his lips clean of crumbs.

He didn’t hear Francis approaching him – and that was why he let out an undignified squeak when Francis’ warm arms hugged him from behind.

“Enjoying yourself, _cher_?” Francis’ sleepy voice whispered into his ear as he pressed against Arthur’s back like a cuddly leech. Arthur noted that the erection was still there, now pressing up against Arthur’s buttocks and the tip touching a thigh.

“Mm,” Arthur hummed, finishing the one he had nearly choked on just then. “I got hungry.”

“I can see that,” Francis chucked wearily as he nuzzled at Arthur’s neck a bit before kissing the skin available. The collar of Arthur’s shirt got in his way a lot, and Francis grumbled in irritation as his fingers crawled up to the few buttons Arthur had bothered to do. “You shouldn’t wear that.”

“I don’t want to walk around naked like you,” Arthur grunted, shuddering as he felt Francis’ erection rubbing against the curve of his ass. Arthur held his breath in anticipation as he let Francis unbutton his shirt and pull it off Arthur’s shoulders.

“Mm, but you look so exquisite like this,” Francis said as his hands went down to Arthur’s shivering hips, fingers digging into the skin. Francis’ hair tickled Arthur’s cheek as Francis nibbled at his neck, tongue and teeth and obviously intent on adding another mark.

“Pervert,” Arthur breathed out without real strength behind the word.

Francis bucked his hips, erection rubbing against Arthur’s ass tantalizingly slowly. Arthur whimpered against his will, eyelids drooping as he gripped the edge of the counter.

“You’re one to talk,” Francis said. His hand crept to Arthur’s hardening cock, squeezing it. “You’re halfway there, too.”

“Can you blame me?” Arthur muttered, “You’re rubbing up against me like you want to fuck again.”

“I do,” Francis agreed as his hips halted but his fingers started to move on Arthur’s cock. “How could I not, when I know you’re leaving today already? Without knowing when we will meet again?”

Arthur swallowed; Francis’ voice was sultry, thick and, _god_ , it made Arthur’s blood rush down south.

“I can’t—“ he started, leaning against Francis as the other worked on his cock with nimble fingers. “I wish I could stay and hump like rabbits do, but I _can’t_.”

“I know,” Francis said mournfully, breathing the words into Arthur’s ear before taking the lobe between his lips and sucking diligently, flicking out his tongue between few sucks.

“Francis,” Arthur gasped. “I really need something to drink b-before we—“

Francis’ movements came to a halt quickly at Arthur’s words, and he pressed a lingering kiss to Arthur’s neck. “Ah, forgive me. Of course. Tea, coffee, or water?”

Usually Arthur would opt for tea, but…

“Water is fine,” he now said dismissively through the haze of arousal as Francis’ hand left his cock. Turning to look at Francis in his naked glory, Arthur swallowed and realized that leaving this was going to be harder than he had initially though – _just once to get it over with_ , that had been the subconscious idea that he had carried around.

But the want was still there.

*

He hadn’t even noticed just how dehydrated he had become before gulping down the first glass of water, but it shouldn’t have been surprising considering how long it had been since he had last drank anything.

“A bit thirsty, are you?” Francis, who had made some coffee for himself, smirked at Arthur, sitting across the table still stark naked. Arthur at least had his shirt pulled back on his shoulders.

“Shush you,” Arthur huffed. “You try going on without anything to drink for over twelve hours.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Francis threw his hands up in mock surrender, blue eyes never leaving Arthur’s face as they inspected the other with calm curiosity that had replaced the previous low-burning want.

Arthur tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t. “…What is it?”

“I was thinking,” Francis said slowly, “of arranging a ball at my castle next month.”

“Oh.” Arthur downed the rest of his second glass of water. “For all four kingdoms?”

“Naturally,” Francis said as he pushed his foot against Arthur’s under the table. Warm skin against warm skin, the touch much gentler than Arthur expected. “I was thinking that it should last two days.”

“So that you could get me to stay overnight?” Arthur asked, raising a brow at which Francis smiled widely, looking rather boyish when he did that.

Charming was another word for it.

“But of course,” Francis purred, “that is one of the benefits of such an arrangement. I was mostly thinking about the joy that dancing with you would bring me, however.”

Arthur bit at the inner skin of his cheek, casting a doubtful look towards Francis. “Is that such a good idea?”

“Dancing in front of others is hardly sex, Arthur,” Francis laughed, one of his delicate brows rising. “Or is it that you cannot stand to have me touch you without craving for more?”

The morning sun highlighted the colour of Francis’ hair and the curve of his mouth. _Too handsome for this world._

“Yes,” Arthur said frankly, although greatly embarrassed by such admission. “That’s exactly what I worry about.”

The look that crossed Francis’ face was worth the humiliation, Arthur discovered: a mixture of shock and arousal with a hint of amusement.

At least Francis hadn’t been drinking his disgusting bean water when Arthur said it.

“Really now,” Francis drawled as he slid his foot up Arthur’s shin.

“Yes, really,” Arthur said quietly, eyes narrowing as he opted to stare at the surface of the table instead of Francis’ face. “After yesterday, how am I to _not_ think back to what we have done? How could I stand to have your hand on my hip and your eyes on me in public where others’ eyes could take notice? Of how bloody much I want you?”

Francis’ toes rubbed lightly at the side of Arthur’s leg, strangely comforting to Arthur’s mind.

“Do you regret it?” Francis’ voice went soft.

“No,” Arthur said before Francis had fully finished his question, head snapping back up to lock gazes with Francis. “The tension would have been worse if we hadn’t done what we did.”

“Then,” Francis smiled, “we just have to make sure to do this again when no one sees. Perhaps before these social events – or during them, if we wish to be adventurous.”

Arthur finished another pastry; the plate lay on the center of the table, about half-empty by now. He used this time to contemplate Francis’ words, licking the frosting off his lips. Francis stared. How obvious.

“I suppose it’s worth the risk,” Arthur said slowly, “though that hardly answers my initial worry.”

“A little bit of lust is good for any dance,” Francis laughed, eyes soft as the laughter died. “I would be saddened to not be able to dance with you, Arthur.”

“I, as well,” Arthur agreed, smiling a little softer than usual before it turned into a smirk. “But I do hope I will be able to keep my hands to myself. I would say the same about you, but you may be a hopeless case.”

“I did not touch you inappropriately at your ball.”

“You looked like you wanted to.”

“…Well, you are not mistaken…”

Arthur sighed as he stretched his arms and popped some joints back to their places before standing up and casting Francis a meaningful look. “Shall we, then? One last time before I head back home.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Francis agreed, and was back on his feet quicker than Arthur had expected – and lunged himself to kiss Arthur with familiar but new heat of passion. Arthur returned it just as strongly, legs trembling as Francis started to lead them back to the bedroom.

*

A few hours later, at noon and after walking Bess around to warm up her muscles for the journey ahead, it was time to say goodbye to Francis.

It was harder than Arthur had initially expected, even though his body’s needs had been thoroughly sated – as the aches in his legs and arse hinted to.

“We will continue our correspondence, _oui_?” Francis said between heated kisses as he held Arthur pushed against the wall of the stables, foreign words seeping into his speech every now and then. At least the context clued Arthur in on what they meant.

“Yes—yes,” Arthur gasped against Francis’ mouth, breathing heavily through his nose as Francis captured his mouth again. Desperation over losing something so physically pleasing; that was what Francis’ kiss tasted like, and Arthur was sure he held the same feeling.

“Francis,” he managed when Francis broke the kiss for a moment, “if you—if you keep doing that, I might not be _able_ to leave, you idiot—“

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Francis said, grinding up against Arthur’s growing bulge between his wobbling legs. “A month is a long time to not be able to touch you like this.”

“Greed is a sin,” Arthur moaned, biting hard on his lip after. “Francis, I must go now.”

And Francis did let him go – after one lingering kiss on Arthur’s swollen, aching lips. The look on his face was almost amusing: forlorn and pained, almost like this affair was about something more than simple sex. ( _Brilliant_ sex.)

“I know,” he said, hand gently swiping Arthur’s hot cheek. “Stay safe, Arthur dear. I shall write to you as soon as I return to my castle and to my own…” Francis eyes wandered, teeth biting into his lower lip. “…queen.”

Arthur gave Francis a chaste kiss on the cheek, and promised, “I shall read your letter, no matter how infuriating it will be.”

“Good.” Francis’ smile would haunt Arthur for days to come – it was just that contented.

*

That fucking arsehole, Arthur thought to himself about twenty minutes into the long ride back to the Spades’ capital. Francis had done it on purpose – making sure Arthur would have to masturbate himself to the thought of the other man on his way home.

Trousers straining as his cock pressed up against the fabric, Arthur scowled and adjusted his posture in the saddle. Francis would receive a passive-aggressive letter for this, he decided. Either that, or so sexual that Francis would be suffering for _hours_.

Arthur was confident in his writing; he was sure he could pull such a feat off.

(In the meantime, when he first pushed himself down from Bess’ back to allow the mare some time to rest and eat he went to stroke himself and cursed Francis Bonnefoy as much as he moaned his name.)

*

Handing the reins to a stable boy, Arthur released the breath he had been holding anxiously the moment he had entered the capital of his kingdom. He hoped, _hoped_ that the marks Francis had left on him had paled enough to go unnoticed by Yao’s sharp eyes. Alfred wouldn’t notice no matter what unless Arthur spelled it out to him in painfully obvious manner.

As sharp as Alfred was, there were some things he would never understand and for that Arthur was glad.

“Welcome back, Arthur.” Matthew, who liked to work at the tables, came over to greet him when he noticed him. Gentle-faced and kind-natured, Matthew was one of the people Arthur hoped would never ever change and also the best one to run into first.

“Matthew.” Arthur’s mouth turned up into a genuine smile despite the soreness in his joints that made him limp as he walked to the lad. Before Matthew could ask about it, Arthur spoke again, “How have things been here? Nothing seems to have collapsed… on the outside.”

Matthew gave a short laugh as he walked with Arthur away from the stables. “Well, Al and Yao have been busy discussing the details of the results from their meeting with the other kings from earlier this week.”

“I still need to go over those, as well,” Arthur mused. “He hasn’t driven the advisors up the walls, has he? Alfred, I mean.”

Evening had already set in, the sun’s last rays of light fading in the horizon as Matthew and he entered the castle from a side entrance at the right side of the inner yard, where a few carriages stood, all carrying the Spades’ insignia. The advisors’ carriages.

Arthur had a good chance at sneaking into his chambers before Alfred and Yao would be free from their duty of catering to them.

“How were your parents?” Matthew enquired after a moment as they reached the stairs leading to the first floor. Royal rooms were up in the second as well as the libraries.

The ballroom was on the first.

“Same old, same old,” Arthur said wryly. “Father was as decadent as always, and mother… too motherly.”

“I wish I could say the same about mine,” Matthew muttered as he stopped at the beginning of the stairs leading to the second floor. “I’m… going to go back to the stables. Sorry.”

“That’s fine, lad,” Arthur assured him. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you let the servants know I’m eating in my chambers tonight? I intend to tuck in early.”

“Yes, of course…” Matthew glanced up at Arthur, a worried frown tugging at his expression. “Are you alright? You’ve… been limping.”

“A small incident on the road,” Arthur waved it off casually, even though each hair on his skin stood up with instant tension. “It’s why I want to go to rest as soon as possible.”

“Ah,” Matthew nodded in understanding. “I’ll let the cooks and servants know, then.”

“Thank you.”

There was one good thing about limping: it did not allow him to rush as fast as he otherwise would have up to the safety of his chambers. That would have been more suspicious than anything else.

*

The moon was starting to make its appearance on the sky as Arthur undressed himself from his horse-riding get-up. He ought to have taken off the boots and the jacket at the stables, but a) a letter from Francis was still in the inward pocket of the jacket and b) he really needed his privacy right then, even though his travel back to Spades had been solitary enough.

And c) Francis might have sent a new letter in the meantime.

C was a very powerful motive indeed.

 Once he was only in his shirt and boxers, Arthur turned to glance through the wide glass doors. Pierre was perched atop the railing of the balcony – and for a bird, he looked fed up with waiting.

Good.

Arthur pulled out a metal cup filled with sunflower seeds before opening the doors, put it on the cold stone floor, and went to detach the message from the now happily cooing bird. Smart, but overly talkative, Arthur thought as he returned inside with pieces of paper clutched against his chest.

He went to lit the large cinnamon-scented candle on his nightstand before finally crawling into his bed and starting to read Francis’ letter, hands shaking with barely concealed anticipation.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I wish you could have stayed for another day; if not for my sake, then at least for that adorable derriere of yours. The ride back must have been painful for you, and I wish I could be there to alleviate the pain in your muscles or at the very least help you push it off your mind._

_I have not returned to my castle yet; I have to write this first. (Luckily I took Pierre with me when I left for our meeting.) You took off not long ago, so you can imagine the state I am in: filled with utmost longing for your fingers in my hair and the feeling of your firm hips against the tips of my fingers. Not to mention the feeling of you around me, your muscles contracting and trembling as I push into you. It’s truly magnificent; even though I may sound decadent now, I will readily admit I have a need to do it again with you._

_This spark of attraction is now a forest fire, Arthur. I understand your worries about us being able to dance with one another a little better now, hours later since our talk._

_It is unbearable to think I will remain unable to touch you for so many weeks from now. Should I invite you and your king over for a flimsy diplomatic reason, I now wonder._

_Will you moan my name from now on whenever you touch yourself? Because I know that I will._

_Lots of kisses for you, my dear._

_Francis._

Arthur closed his eyes as he inhaled, fingers pressing hard into the pages of the letter. Yes, he thought with a mixture of worry and want clouding his senses, this was going to be a messy affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been updating abnormally often, but I will not be able to do it quite so much this week as I have a few assignments to attend to.


	9. shuffled cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred screws up - or not. In the meantime, Francis sends Arthur a gift that is not quite personal.

Alfred had not cast their kingdom into ruins in the trade negotiation, which was mildly surprising considering how pigheaded the young king was when it came to getting his way with people. Only the lack of results with Clubs was concerning: the Kingdom of Clubs was famous for being one of the biggest producers of alcohol in the entire world, and Arthur was, uh, _appreciative_ of such products.

“Why do we not have anything substantial constructed with Clubs?” Arthur asked as he went through the documents. A worried wrinkle formed between his brows as he clenched his jaw and read through the terms for Diamonds and Spades’ trade. Francis had been surprisingly generous with Alfred: there were hardly any restrictions on merchants traveling to Diamonds’ lands.

Arthur forced himself to not dwell on the thought of Francis. He had yet to write a reply to Francis’ letter, and Pierre was a greedy and _loud_ piece of bird shit, but there was a right time and place to consider those things and this wasn’t it.

“Well…” Alfred’s voice faded, and that in itself was enough to make Arthur raise his eyes from the papers. Alfred grinned sheepishly, the corner of his mouth twitching as he spoke. “Ivan and I got into a bit of a… disagreement over the pros and cons of such a cordial agreement Francis suggested and made with us.”

“That is to say,” Yao interpreted Alfred’s words to Arthur, looking as exasperated as Arthur was starting to feel, “that he and Ivan nearly punched each other over the dinner table because according to Alfred Ivan was ‘being stingy’.”

“Oh, my God.” Arthur buried his face into his hands and tried to vanquish the approaching headache before it would hit him in full force. Alfred shuffled awkwardly on the other side of the table, laughing nervously before hurrying to continue babbling.

“It’s not a big deal, Artie, really—we’re going to meet next week and work something out! This time I’ll make that bastard agree to our terms, okay?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Arthur groaned as Yao rubbed his shoulder in attempt at consoling the Queen of Spades. “Didn’t I _explicitly_ say to not anger other royalty—“

“It’s not like you haven’t ever argued with anyone!” Alfred said defensively, frowning at Arthur as Arthur lifted his face back up. “And I _didn’t_ punch Ivan, so that counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“It simply means you’re this close to starting a war one of these days,” Arthur retorted, but gave in with a sigh and a shrug. “I trust Yao will join you this time, as well?”

“Uh.” Alfred and Yao exchanged wary glances with each other.

Arthur’s nearly crumpled the paper he held before himself. “Don’t tell me…”

“Ivan kinda made me promise that it’d be one-on-one,” Alfred said, eyes wide as he inspected Arthur’s tense face. “But, like, that’s good, isn’t it? It’d be he-said-she-said situation if anything happened!”

“Yes, and _he_ can use it to his advantage, too!” Arthur hissed as he set the papers down in disgust and stood up from the chair.

They were in the coronation room where Alfred had sworn himself to his duty as a king, and naturally it was the place all disasters and not-quite-disasters were discussed and planned. A beautifully decorated room with shawls hanging off the walls and luxurious carpets covering the floorboards.

Arthur usually found the serene atmosphere in the room calming, even when the advisors and Alfred were arguing loudly beside him and his afternoon tea. Now was not one of those times, even though the room was much quieter as the advisors had all left the previous day and had not come back.

“What’s done is done,” Arthur muttered as he pushed the chair under the oblong desk. “I’m retiring to my chamber for the rest of the afternoon. Have a servant bring me some tea later, Yao.”

“As you wish, my Queen.”

“Artie—“

“Be quiet, Alfred. I’m rather upset at you right now,” Arthur said tersely, not casting even a glance to Alfred’s direction as he stomped away from the room. The heels of his boots made satisfying clacking sounds as they hit the carpet, although slightly muffled.

*

Back in his chambers, Arthur’s temper eased off and he released yet another sigh, much more tired than angry this time. The Clubs had a history of aggressive foreign politics, one that Arthur had studied when he had been a young lad. Ivan was just as conservative as the past leaders of the said kingdom had been, and if Arthur knew anything about conservatives, it was that they tended to be more eager and accepting for wars when it came to getting their way with others.

Arthur sighed. Pierre chirped.

“Might as well write to him so that you’ll actually leave,” he mused to the bird perched atop a bird cage rather than inside it.

And so he did; strangely enough, writing to Francis calmed him down.

Smiling, now in a considerably better mood, he attached the folded message to Pierre’s leg. “Off you go, you noisy little arse.”

Pierre cooed.

Arthur twitched and watched him turn and flap his wings, and then he went back to his desk, fingers absently rubbing at the love bites just barely hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt.

*

_Francis,_

_it seems ludicrous to think that I woke up to your arms around me just yesterday; it feels like a much longer time has passed, but perhaps that is because Alfred keeps testing my patience and shortening my lifespan with the shite he pulls. I cannot believe him._

_If there ever is a time to vent my frustrations by semi-aggressive wank-a-thon (I cringe at the crudeness of my words; stop laughing! I know you ARE laughing), it would be now, since the memories of you are still fresh and more than enough to get me off. I half-heartedly wish I could go back in time to the evening we shared, because that was much better than Alfred’s royal fuck-ups._

_Regarding the matter of the ball you mentioned – were you serious about the timing? I recall that month being a horribly busy time for you, if what newspapers report is correct these days anymore._

_Not that I care, of course, because I do wish to see you as soon as possible for my own reasons that I believe I have made clear._

_Also Pierre is bothersome and loud; he reminds me of Alfred in a not good way._

_Yours, Arthur._

*

The following week had Alfred going to meet Ivan in a place he hadn’t disclosed to either Yao or Arthur, which in itself was suspicious and unnerving. Arthur could only hope the lad had enough sense to _not_ do anything regrettable – but at the same time he knew he could trust Alfred to do the right thing. He was a bit thoughtless at times, but Alfred wasn’t as gullible as he appeared.

Arthur wasn’t sure exactly how long Alfred would be gone, which Alfred hadn’t even given a hint to, and it made him jittery and irritated most of the time. A thought of going to meet Francis in Alfred’s absence pulled at his mind, but he refused to indulge the whimsical want any further outside the letters he wrote to Francis. He had no passable excuse this time. At the very least, Yao would notice that something was going on.

Arthur did mention about Alfred’s absence to Francis, however, and as expected, Francis leaped in for the chance to arrange another quick fuck in one of those days.

 _If there’s a chance as good as this,_ Francis wrote and Arthur could imagine an excited, lecherous grin on Francis’ face, _should we not take advantage of it? There are still several weeks to the ball that Lili and I are planning._

Arthur, who felt a bit lonely in Alfred’s absence, was very close to accepting Francis’ invitation, but the practical arrangement and lies that would follow pulled him away in the end.

 _I do not think it’s smart at this point of time: I have no believable excuse, and Yao is sharper than you know,_ he replied to Francis with some regret. _I will see you at the ball, whenever it is._

The next few letters were spent on arguing about Arthur’s decision, but in the end Francis left the subject alone when Arthur told him he could just pick up someone else to fulfill his sexual needs. After all, Francis was a relatively charming and handsome king. It wouldn’t be _difficult_.

But the thought of Francis charming someone else into his bed made Arthur’s skin crawl with disgust and stomach churn with nausea, so he tried to not think too much about that. After all, what did he care? It was not unusual for kings to hold several lovers or mistresses at the same time behind the backs of their lawful wives or husbands.

He was musing over these thoughts one day yet again, anxious over Francis not having responded to his last letter yet. It had been over two days since the last time Pierre had flown in, and Alfred should be about to return to Spades, too.

The chamomile tea, a gift received from the Queen of Hearts, did very little to soothe his nerves. Yao and Matthew both noticed this and kept glancing at him in mild worry.

At least they didn’t mention anything about it.

“Oh, right,” Matthew suddenly started, and Arthur nearly spilled tea over himself at the sudden noise. Matthew smiled apologetically at him. “I forgot to mention that you got something from the Kingdom of Diamonds. It was delivered late yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Yao piped up, his face splitting into a slight grin. “The servants should have brought it up to your chambers earlier when you were having your post-lunch horse ride.”

“What is _it_?” Arthur asked carefully, stomach dropping at the mention of the neighboring kingdom whose ruler was… Arthur’s sort-of undercover lover. They hadn’t officially named the affair as such, but Francis had insinuated towards it.

“A dress!” Yao and Matthew said at the same time, the Jack grinning much more widely than the Ace of Spades.

“A… dress?”

“It’s for the upcoming ball,” Matthew reminded him gently. “The King and Queen sent an invitation earlier, didn’t they?”

Oh, that was right. Francis _had_ sent an official invitation earlier, even though he had privately mentioned the arrangements had hardly been started asides from clothes. Arthur had thought Francis had meant himself with those words, but apparently _not_.

“Here’s the note that came with the dress,” Matthew said as he dug out a card from the breast pocket of his royal blue shirt. “He’s, um. Rather eccentric personality, isn’t he?”

Arthur took the note from Matthew to read it. Francis’ handwriting was recognizable and beautiful in the delicate curves of each letter, especially J’s and S’s.

_Dear Queen of Spade,_

_Regarding the invitation to the ball in our beautiful kingdom, I have taken up the task of sending the queens of each kingdom a dress for them to wear: a dress with the colours of my beautiful land. I wish you to wear it, as I am sure it will showcase your features more than your usual dreary colours._

_I am looking forward to seeing you all in our colours._

_Best wishes,_

_Francis Bonnefoy, King of Diamonds._

Arthur’s brows twitched at the obvious insult Francis’ note contained. Dreary colours? After all those sweet words about how Arthur’s dress had suited him? What a _bloody tosser._

“What a—“ Arthur searched for the correct word for this situation. Alfred’s favourite one came to mind instead. “—shithead.”

“Indeed,” Yao agreed. Matthew only laughed nervously.

“At least the dress really is beautiful?” he said shyly, a hint of a flush on his cheeks as Arthur raised one of his thick eyebrows at him.

“Allow me to be the judge of that, Matthew.”

*

Matthew was right.

 _God_ , Matthew had never been more right than he was about the dress.

“Oh my,” Yao murmured as he and Matthew inspected Arthur in the dress Francis had sent to him. “Perhaps the King of Diamonds knew what he was doing, after all.”

The dress was a breathless mess of different shades of gold and orange, colours going down the dress in a smooth gradient, and just rich enough to look nice in comparison to Arthur’s pallid skin. And asides from that, the dress was a good fit in the physical sense: the fabric was comfortable and smooth, sat nicely against Arthur’s hips and this time corset-less waist.

Arthur stared at the reflection from the full-body mirror, and inspected himself from every angle.

“How in the world did he know my measurements?” Arthur wondered out loud, irritated at the dress as much as at Francis. Had he been groped in his sleep?

Arthur stared at his collarbones that the dress left in clear view. Francis’ motive was obvious in this particular choice, Arthur thought to himself as he recalled Francis’ lips there, sucking at the skin with avaricious passion that still flustered Arthur. For goodness’ sake…

“No one knows,” Yao answered Arthur’s rhetoric question. “He apparently has a gift for it, rumours say. He has done similar things before… first when he was crowned as king, as well.”

“That arrogant prat,” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves were very short, only reaching his elbows, which unnerved him a little but not as much as the wide neck.

“He didn’t send anything for Alfred?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or does he simply want to dress up the queens that are not his?”

“He didn’t, and it appears so,” Yao said with a shrug of his slender shoulders. “He does not flirt quite so much with other kings, that man. Queens, though…”

“That lecherous slimy little—“ There was not much anger in Arthur’s voice though; he kept looking at himself and the dress and its flowy train. It was easy to imagine Francis’ hand on his hip and lips near Arthur’s ear, whispering—

Arthur started when the door to his chambers was opened, and another servant came inside in a hurry. Arthur and Yao both started admonishing him, but the boy quickly bowed for forgiveness and cut them off with a “King Aflred has returned!”

Arthur’s face lit up. “Oh, he has? Shall we go welcome him, Yao, Matthew?”

“Oh, I think he’s already coming up here—“

The door slammed open again, revealing the King of Spades in all hit fluttery royal fabrics. “Artie! Yao, Mattie!”

“Ah… Speak of the devil,” Arthur murmured as he took in Alfred’s disheveled but vastly contented appearance. “It seems like you got what you wanted, Alfred?”

In the next moment, Alfred’s arms were wrapped around Arthur, pulling the Queen into a tight, bone-crushing hug that wrung the breath out of Arthur. “Alfred…?”

“We got the deal, we got the deal,” Alfred sang out cheerfully and twirled Arthur around the room in a fit of uncontrollable joy and relief. Arthur laughed, the sound wheezing and quivering as he couldn’t breathe correctly in the strong hold.

“I understand, I understand—Let me down now, you silly boy.”

Alfred was warm, both physically and in personality, and there was much to be grateful for in their arranged marriage: it could have been so, so much worse. Although that, in Arthur’s own silent opinion, was an entirely wrong manner to think about a marriage.

When Alfred finally pulled away, his warmth still lingering against Arthur, he finally noticed the dress Arthur wore. The dazzlingly bright eyes widened. “Woah, what’s with the dress, Artie? It looks real nice on ya… but aren’t those the Diamonds’ colours?”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed at Arthur. “You’re not moving to Diamonds, are ya?”

“Don’t be _stupid_ ,” Arthur sniffed irritably, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the words. “The King of Diamonds sent all the queens of the kingdoms a dress to wear for the ball he’s holding in a few weeks at his castle.”

“Oooh.” Alfred blinked. “How did he know your size? That looks like it was made for you.”

“I wish I knew, but at the same time I don’t particularly _want_ to,” Arthur said regretfully as he patted Alfred’s arm. “Now, give me a bit of time to change and then let us discuss the results you had with your one-on-one negotiations with the Clubs.”

“But it looks cute on you,” Alfred pouted. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but Francis’ colours suit you pretty well—“

“What the hell are you saying?” Arthur scoffed, even though his heart sped up in his chest dangerously. “I’m _your_ queen.”

“Haha, that’s true! But ya know, you could stand to wear a little more colour, Artie; just ‘coz blue’s our colour doesn’t mean you gotta be blue _all_ the time…”

“Fine, fine, I’ll join you in the coronation room like this if you _shut up_ right now.”

“Great!”

“Chop chop, Alfred.”

*

Arthur read through the documents Alfred had presented to him (after returning to fetch them from the carriage where he had left them in his excitement…) and he had to admit, Alfred had struck quite a decent deal with Ivan. Not as good as with Francis or Ludwig but considering it was Clubs that they were talking about, it was more than just satisfactory.

“Great job, Alfred,” he said, for once genuinely impressed with his King. There was a limited number of merchants that could enter the Clubs for their profession and even more limited number of products that the foreigners were allowed to sell, but it was not quite as strict as Yao had told the initial draft had stated.

“See, I told you!” Alfred’s grin could light a whole room, and Arthur’s heart swelled with affection for the younger man. Even if he was an idiot most of the time.

“Yes, I’m so sorry for doubting you,” Arthur murmured, smirking as Alfred huffed. For once, he had caught on to Arthur’s sarcastic tone.

“You don’t _look_ sorry, Artie. And after I rushed back just to give ya the good news, too! Oh, and also vodka!”

“What?”

Alfred pulled out a bottle of strong alcohol from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, grinning as he waved it before Arthur. “It’s a gift from Ivan! 100% Clubs-original vodka.”

Arthur’s face changed. “I take back what I said, Alfred. I truly am sorry for doubting your ability—“

“Don’t give it to him, Al,” Matthew interjected in panic. “You know how he is with alcohol!”

“—you know I do appreciate you quite a lot—“

“Alfred, don’t!”

“Ahahah, maybe I shouldn’t give it to ya after all, Artie—“

“Get back here, Alfred!”


	10. suited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weeks before the ball trickle by slowly, but finally the wait ends.

Francis did reply to him eventually, relieving the horrible feeling that had taken hold of Arthur as more time had passed without a word from the king. There was no real reason to feel bad about it, considering that Francis was at most a good conversation and an excellent fuck behind the curtains of public, but Arthur couldn’t help the twinge of irritation that kept pulling at him.

He blamed it on loneliness: Alfred had been absent for several days and while Yao and Matthew were there for him, there had been much work to discuss and little time for anything more personal.

Not that Arthur would admit to feeling that way.

Regardless, Pierre’s appearance and Francis’ letter put him at ease – though, of course, it was as descriptively perverted as always.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I apologize for writing this so late in response to your letter; I have been busy with my more difficult tasks as a ruler. You understand, yes? I hope my little present for you has arrived in safely and without any unfortunate incidents. I would so love to see you wearing it at the ball; the thought is quite thrilling, in fact._

_It’s regrettable we couldn’t sneak in at least one rendezvous during your King’s absence; has he arrived back safely, by the way? I have the feeling you worry about him a lot, like a big brother or a parent figure._

_I will console myself with the mental image of you in the dress I sent you. I also sent two others, to Kiku and Elizaveta, but trust me when I say that the thought of you in my colours excites me far more. To the point where I find myself longing to be with you right now, and to the point where the little pleasures of daily life do very little to rinse off the itch under my skin that the thought of you causes._

_I want to show you the gardens of my castle, to discuss flower meanings and symbolism. It’s a different desire from the physical want that overwhelms both you and me, but I hope you will indulge me just once._

_I wish I could write more here, but I must return to my duties or else Vash will bash my head in and take the crown. That would be an unfortunate event for your sex life, wouldn’t it?_

_Kisses, Francis Bonnefoy._

Well, not as perverse as Arthur had expected… but it held a familiar tone that eased Arthur and brought a smile to his lips, though it was exasperated. Of course Francis was excited to see Arthur in the dress _he_ had chosen; of course Francis kept thinking about it.

It was a beautiful dress too, but Arthur wondered how long it would take Francis to take it off him and whether the dress could stand the touches from impatient hands.

The more indecent side of him hoped that the answers were _not long_ and _no_ , but Arthur shoved those thoughts aside before they could get the better of him. There was still some time before the ball. Patience was a key to everything.

*

The weeks till the ball – which took place near the end of September, when the autumn at Diamonds was supposedly at its most breathtaking – couldn’t have gone slower for Arthur. Three weeks were three too many, but he refrained from telling Francis that.

There was only so much one could do with a hand, Arthur consoled himself when he wondered about his impatience. It was perhaps a bit unnatural to want someone so much as he wanted Francis, whom he had only met twice and the other time they had already embraced each other in the most intimate way.

Arthur threw himself into the paperwork Alfred abandoned while Alfred took care of advisors (more or less successfully, but not without giving Yao a pounding headache) and other more social events with their subjects and nobility. Arthur had never _truly_ gotten along with the nobility, who were pretentious pricks – and they said the same about him, he knew – and some were even after the Queen’s seat.

Too bad it was already filled.

Amidst signing new laws – or rather, adding his signature next to Alfred’s, but the laws no longer required both the Queen and the King’s acceptance so it was mere tradition – Arthur managed to write more to Francis when Pierre was waiting for a new letter to bring to his master. And although the messenger pigeon was way too chirpy to Arthur’s liking, Pierre was a nice company. No tricks, no gossip, no unnecessary courtesies that were all lies at a certain point.

And if the servants took notice of the bird, at least they had enough tact to not comment on it. They might have assumed Pierre to be the pigeon Arthur’s parents used when sending something to him. They _didn’t_ know that Arthur was not exactly in correspondence with them anymore.

Arthur would like to keep it that way if it allowed his letters with Francis be ignored.

Letters from the Kingdom of Hearts came in, and talks about diplomatic and formal visits to the Hearts’ lands roared to life amidst the nobility and advisors. The rumours weren’t baseless: in a letter directed to Alfred, Ludwig had brought the idea on the table. In another, written by the Queen of Hearts in response to Arthur’s, some schedule was already suggested.

Hearts were the Spades’ neighbors in northeast, while Diamonds were in southwest. The Clubs were the only one Spades didn’t share direct border with, so they were not quite as important traveling wise as Diamonds and Hearts – but good relations always came handy, like Arthur had been saying to Alfred all along.

Arthur was responsible for the letters, since Alfred didn’t care to sit around writing when there were other things he could do. He had always been a rather restless boy, so Arthur simply adopted this as one of his duties, though some nobles were disagreeable on allowing him to have such power over important relationships between the other countries.

All in all, it was a busy time between the usual meetings and reports as well as the parties that Alfred liked to hold for his personal friends in the kingdom. Gilbert Beilschmidt, one of the Jokers and the King of Hearts’ brother, was invited more often than not.

Before he knew it, it was time to take a carriage to the Kingdom of Diamonds – but not before sending one last letter to Francis via the airborne communication system that was also called Pierre.

_Try not to jump on me like you did the last time we saw each other. –Arthur._

*

The journey to the neighboring kingdom took almost the whole day, what with the pauses for lunch and snacks that Alfred claimed were mandatory. Arthur would have been alright with it usually – would have been alright if it was another kingdom and another king they were going to see.

 _Or perhaps not._ He would have been expecting to meet Francis in either case, and his mind would have taken the exact same road it had taken now: the memory of the hot evening in the seemingly abandoned cottage in the midst of Diamonds’ forest. Arthur sighed at his own hopelessness… or lewdness, as the case was.

Crossing his ankles, Arthur continued to stare at the passing scenery while half-heartedly listening to the idle conversation between Alfred and Yao. The forests were lighter, less dense than in their home, and probably wonderful for horse riding. Arthur might as well ask about that from Francis later.

The autumn colours had taken over the kingdom, and they truly were a sight to behold. In Spades, autumns were a bleak, grey affairs, but Diamonds shone brighter than perhaps even in summer. Arthur could understand the reason behind the national colours the royalty chose to wear a bit more, and he smiled inwardly to himself. The nature there was as breathtaking as Francis, although a little less irritating on the eyes.

The ride through the capital went on slowly due to the number of _other_ carriages before them, and Arthur’s face tightened with irritation as his fingers fiddled with the fabric of the light-coloured dress from Francis.

“You’ve been pretty quiet,” Matthew noted and nudged at Arthur’s elbow with a gentle palm. “Are you alright?”

“Mm,” Arthur mumbled something incomprehensible before starting. “Just tired, I think. You know how these drives exhaust me, Matthew.”

“He’s gettin’ old, that’s all,” Alfred laughed from across Arthur, who turned his head to glower at the king. “Hey, just saying, you’ve been really high-strung lately—“

“Not particularly,” Arthur said dismissively, but Yao and Matthew joined in with Alfred’s opinion.

“He’s not wrong,” Yao murmured as their carriage was finally able to proceed on the cobblestones of the main road of the vast, pastel-coloured capital. “You have been snapping at servants far more than what is usual for even your temper.”

“And _me_.” Alfred had to gall to look offended that Yao hadn’t brought up his name.

“When do I not snap at you, _love_?” Arthur retorted, grinning a little at the sulky look that crossed Alfred’s face. “Really, I thought you were doing it all on purpose to get some attention… We have been through all these things in the past, so why are you still adamant on not following what I say?”

Alfred flinched and leaned against the cushioned back of the carriage, looking even more sullen. Matthew, by Arthur’s side, laughed softly at his younger brother’s expression.

“Anyway,” Arthur cleared his throat. “You needn’t worry about me. It’s simply been stressing lately, what with the arrangements with the Hearts and the rest…”

“Oh right, you’ve been doing that,” Alfred remembered, eyes wide as if he had completely forgotten that he had pushed that onto Arthur not too long ago. Arthur hummed in affirmation, a depreciative smile on his lips as he watched Alfred mull over his words. Matthew sighed, and Yao rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“It looks like we have arrived at their castle,” the Jack of Spades murmured as the carriage started to slow down, the rocking and swaying evening out as the horses went from gallop to an even-paced trot.

Arthur wrapped his arms around himself, fingers clutching at his elbows as he closed his eyes and willed himself to think about anything else than Francis. The evening was still young. There was plenty of time.

“You look a little ill,” Matthew observed as the carriage came to a complete halt with a loud screeching sound from the wheels and gently touched Arthur’s bare arm. “Are you sure you’re alright, Arthur?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur said, frowning at Matthew’s worried expression. “Don’t you worry about me, lad – it’s you who we should all worry about instead. I know you don’t like these events very much.”

Matthew blushed under the close scrutiny of the three. “I’m not going to faint this time, alright? That was _once_!”

“If you say so, Mattie,” Alfred grinned as he moved to open the carriage doors and helped his brother up. “Stick close to me, though! Can’t take too many risks, yeah?”

“I’m not a child, Al,” Matthew grumbled as he followed Alfred out of the carriage, smoothing his royal blue suit that Alfred had had tailored for him. It was very similar to Alfred’s, and perhaps that was why Matthew didn’t look comfortable in it.

“Well, time to go, my Queen,” Yao grinned at Arthur. “Shall I help you with your dress?”

“If you insist,” Arthur huffed with some irritation, but accepted the help with the train of the dress more than gladly in the end. His thoughts were entirely elsewhere already, though, and so most of the impact the sight of the Diamonds’ castle was lost on him.

The castle was pure white and looked delicate not only because of the colours but also because of the thin towers that rose high into the sky. The cobblestone-covered road that led to the main entrance was just as white and _glowed_ in the rays of the evening sun. There were many other details, but Arthur did not manage to take all of them in as Alfred ushered him, Yao and Matthew to follow him into the castle while leaving the carriage driver to take care of the horses and find a stable for them to reside the night at.

Arthur swallowed quietly as they entered the castle. The interior was like a whole new world compared the exterior: here, the Diamonds’ royal colours ruled. Yellows, oranges, everything in between, and even hints of pale red.

Gilbert, who had been waiting at the entrance dressed up in neutral black-and-vermillion clothes, grinned as he went to announce their arrival, his voice loud and booming and headache-inducing… as always.

“He’s lively,” Matthew muttered behind Arthur.

“He always is,” Yao replied indifferently.

Alfred had wound his arm around Arthur, pulled him close, all the while remaining ignorant to the tension in Arthur’s shoulders.

“Alfred, is this necessary?” Arthur muttered just as the royalty of Diamonds turned to look at them as they approached. Francis’ blue eyes warmed him up even from this distance; _how ridiculous_ , Arthur admonished himself as Alfred’s arm held him by the waist.

“Just relax for once,” Alfred murmured quietly so that only Arthur head him, “the show’s all for the public, yeah?”

Before Arthur could say anything, Alfred pressed a light kiss on his cheek and then strode to greet Francis, whose eyes had been on the playful act the whole time. A polite, charming smile on his lips, Francis greeted Alfred, hands clasping Alfred’s firmly.

“It is good to see you again, King of Spades,” Francis said, his eyes on Alfred while Arthur’s were on Francis. The King of Diamonds’ features were as impeccable as always, on the line between _gorgeous_ and _perfect_ with the few strands of gold-like hair framing his face and the plump lips that were skilled at rendering Arthur into a gasping mess.

Arthur tried not to think about it, he really did. He also tried not to stare at Francis’ clothes, which were sure to fit him just as well as that smile that was on his lips.

“The pleasure’s all mine, King of Diamonds,” Alfred returned, squeezing Francis’ hands in return once his were freed. “I’m thankful for your kindness at the negotiations, by the way. That was really… uh… nice of ya.”

Francis’ laugh was deep and amused.

“Don’t worry about it. In times of need, we all must be kind to one another, yes? But enough about that—“ Was it just Arthur, or did Francis’ eyes just flicker to him? “—let us talk more in the ballroom, shall we? The Hearts are already there, and the Clubs are arriving soon as well.”

“Of course,” Alfred grinned and moved to Francis’ wife, the petite young Lili.

Arthur stepped up to Francis, offering his hand wordless for Francis to plant a chaste kiss on its back. Francis smiled, eyes glimmering as he took the offered hand and leaned down to kiss it with warm, tender lips, mouthing _beautiful_ against the skin.

Arthur shivered, eyes half-lidded as he inspected Francis.

“Welcome, Queen of Spades,” Francis breathed as he straightened up, Arthur’s hand still in his. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to mind. “I’m glad to see you too decided to utilize the gift I sent to you.”

“But of course,” Arthur said evenly, glancing at Alfred, who was chattering loudly with Francis’ queen. “Although it was rather arrogant of you to make the queens of other kingdoms wear your colours, Bonnefoy.”

“What can I say?” Francis’ grin widened indulgingly. “I must do my part in making the world a more beautiful place, dear queen.”

“Of course,” Arthur said sarcastically, but the tingling in his stomach betrayed the real feelings Francis’ heavy-lidded gaze stirred. “Thank you, I suppose – for the dress.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Francis said, winking suggestively as Arthur shuffled away from him and towards the little Queen of Diamonds.

“I apologize for him,” Lili smiled as they exchanged curtsies. “My King is a little… odd when it comes to his conception of beauty.”

“So I have deducted,” Arthur said dryly, but managed a smile for the young Queen. Lili looked no older than eighteen with her small build and child-like twin tails that rested on her shoulders. Her large, spring green eyes only added to her youthful appearance, leaving an air of naivety that would undoubtedly attract indecent fellows.

“Really,” Lili continued softly, “it means a lot to Francis that you came all this way. He loves it when balls are full of people and life; makes them more interesting, he says.”

Francis, who had given Yao’s hand a courteous kiss a few moments ago, turned to look at his Queen with a miffed expression. “You make it sound like you don’t agree with me, my dear.”

“I do, I do,” Lili laughed as she gently gestured Arthur to move to Vash if he wanted to. “You simply go… overboard sometimes, though.”

“Do I?”

Arthur hurriedly went to shake hands with Vash, trying to ignore the jovial and gentle argument between the royal couple of Diamonds.

Vash didn’t look any happier to be subjected to the empty small talk, or maybe the scowl was simply his day-to-day face.

“Welcome,” Vash said stiffly, looking uncomfortable in his yellow-orange attire. The fluttery cravat around his neck looked like a choking hazard waiting to happen.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Arthur said and repeated the acts of polite conduct that were necessary for events such as these, but it was half-hearted at best now.

*

Alfred led him to the ballroom on the first floor of the castle after they had both finished greeting the Ace of Diamonds, who went by the name Antonio and held an air of carefree idiocy that ensure he and Alfred hit it off almost immediately. Green eyes and tan skin, Antonio was a good-looking fellow, as the staring servants could and would attest to if one were to ask their opinion on the matter.

Antonio was a little too jovial for Arthur’s tastes, though. Which was ridiculous considering his infatuation with Francis, but then again, that fascination was mostly physical in the first place…

“Man, Antonio’s such a friendly guy,” Alfred mused as he and Arthur climbed up the marble stairs to the first floor. “Kinda sad he wasn’t there with his King when the meeting took place.”

“Oh, he wasn’t?”

“Nah, Francis said something about him being sick at the time…”

“Well, you got to talk to him now.” Now that he thought about it, Antonio hadn’t been at the ball in Spades either. Francis had said _something_ about his absence, but Arthur couldn’t recall what it was.

“True.”

The ballroom was even larger than the one at home, Arthur noted with a skip of his heart. The floor polished, the decorations coloured after the royal colours of each kingdom, and a large group of people already milling at the edges of the room while servants went about bringing glasses of red wine on silver trays.

As Francis had said, the Hearts were already there in their reds and their Queen in a mess of gold-orange dress that clearly revealed more skin than the reserved Queen of Hearts was used to. He fidgeted about uncomfortably, seeking refuge and comfort from being by Ludwig and Feliciano’s side.

Alfred sighed, a little put-off.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked, patting Alfred’s arm as a comforting gesture. “Does the idea of two days of dancing terrify you, Alfred?”

“Oh, no,” Alfred muttered, lips curling into a grimace. “Well, that too, but ya know, I still like my parties better than these.”

“Belt up,” Arthur sighed. “You’ll live. There’s wine to ease your nerves if you really need it.”

“As long as you don’t take up your own suggestion,” Yao, who came up behind them with Matthew, muttered audibly enough for Arthur to catch both the words and the tone. Turning his head around, the Queen rolled his eyes irately at his Jack.

“I don’t intend to,” he said at length, glancing back towards the entrance of the ballroom. Francis and his queen hadn’t come up; had the Clubs arrived already?

Turning back, Arthur bit at the inner skin of his cheek and reminded himself that _patience is a virtue_ and _it’s not like you’ll get to fuck around with him when there are so many people around_. The second thought was as false as Arthur’s self-proclaimed tolerance for alcohol.

Arthur inhaled and took a glass of wine from a passing tray after Alfred, Matthew and Yao had all gone up to chat with people they had clicked at the last ball. See if they could stop him _now_ , Arthur thought irritably as he sipped at the wine. The liquid burned not so pleasantly in his throat, but it was nice enough.

“I see you’re enjoying the fine products of my kingdom,” a deep voice murmured from Arthur’s side, effectively startling the yellow-adorned queen, who just barely managed to not spill any wine on his dress.

“Did the guests from Clubs already arrive?” Arthur asked as he slowly turned to look at the smiling face of Francis Bonnefoy, the King of the Diamonds and everything that was not right with Arthur’s world.

“I told Lili I would go tend to our guests,” Francis said with a shake of his head, eyes holding steady contact with Arthur’s and conveying what spoken words could not. Others had yet to take notice of Francis’ arrival as they had got deeply involved in their own conversations.

“And by guests,” Francis leaned in to whisper into Arthur’s ear, “I naturally mean you, Arthur.”

Arthur stiffened at the lack of proper distance between them, and threw a quick glance around before muttering, “Don’t try anything, you moron.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Francis calmed him with a disarming smile. “But trust me when I say this – you look breathtaking tonight, _mon cher_.”

Arthur should have been the one to say that to Francis, whose clothes were of purest colours and softest silk, the fabric flattering on Francis’ well-built body. Arthur swallowed, licked the remaining droplets of wine off his lips before he dared to say anything.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Francis,” he allowed himself to say quietly as no one was listening in on them. “How many dances do you intend to steal from me tonight?”

“As many as possible,” Francis said, eyeing at the necklace Arthur wore. Purplish blue jewels adorned it, one of them shaped like a spade. Francis’ eyes narrowed and his fingers went to touch the accessory with mindless curiosity. “You just had to wear something like this to contradict the dress, didn’t you?”

“It’s tradition to wear something with the kingdom’s symbol on it,” Arthur said defensively as the back of Francis’ hand brushed against his skin. Tender, and too difficult to not pay attention to. He pushed Francis’ hand away quickly, just when others started to take notice of the King of Diamonds.

As Francis got surrounded by nobles willing to pay compliments to his castle and the ballroom, Arthur withdrew from the center of that group and placed his now empty glass of wine on a passing servant’s tray.

Face hot, Arthur cursed his weakness to alcohol _and_ Francis.


	11. up the ante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball begins not exactly on the best note.

The guests from Clubs arrived while Francis was busy holding up a conversation with a group that was a mix of Hearts, Diamonds, and Spades’ nobles as well as a few members of their royal families. Francis’ smile felt a tad strained on his lips as he discreetly tried to locate Arthur amidst the people gathered in the room.

When his eyes failed to find the other, Francis felt disappointment heavy in his stomach, somewhere between the fascination and pleasure that seeing Arthur again had brought up.

Ivan and his company arrived together with Francis’ Queen, Jack and absentminded Ace that kept looking around, undoubtedly in search for one of the Hearts. Francis noted that he should tease Antonio about it later; it was what the best of friends did to each other, after all.

“Ivan, _mon ami_ ,” Francis called the other king as he waved his way through his listeners and reached the giant-like man in a few steps. “I’m sorry I was not there to greet you, but I am glad you made it safely here. As well as you, of course, beautiful Queen of Clubs…”

Elizaveta rolled her eyes, the gesture good-natured and without ill will even though she looked a tad uncomfortable in the pale yellow dress that Francis had had tailored for her.

“Ah, should I have had a suit tailor for you after all, my dear?” he wondered, biting at his lip as he reconsidered his decision. He had been so busy adoring the idea of Arthur in his colours that he had forgotten that Elizaveta preferred trousers and shirts to frilly dresses. In his defense, that image of Arthur had been seductive, and Francis was but a simple man with simple desires…

The reality was even better, and Francis felt a pleasant shudder trail down his spine as he caught sight of Arthur from the corner of his eye.

“No, no,” Elizaveta assured him, her arm linked with Roderich, whose face held an arrogantly disinterested expression as he glanced around. Francis pouted. The man was rude, but _Dieu_ if he wasn’t gorgeous.

Elizaveta continued, “I’m quite happy that I didn’t have to do anything about the lack of dresses in my wardrobe, actually. Roderich has been complaining about it so much… even though he isn’t even my King.”

_Yes, but you wish he would be._

“My Queen, don’t—“ Roderich started, nose wrinkling as he turned his eyes to her. “I was simply suggesting that so that you could get used to wearing them eventually.”

“Yes, of course,” Elizaveta smiled amiably as she and Ivan (and Francis) laughed at the Jack. “You will have to be patient with me on the dancefloor, though. I’m not used to the restrictions dresses set on my movements.”

“There’s nothing I would do more gladly than teach a lady to dance freely in spite of her dress,” Francis said smiling, taking Elizaveta’s hand to kiss its back. “Nothing would bring me more joy, I assure you.”

Except dance with Arthur… dance and hold him close, Arthur’s hand clasped in his and Francis’ other hand placed on Arthur’s prominent hip.

“Oh, you,” Elizaveta sighed as her hand was released. “I’m afraid that honor shall go to either my dear husband or our Jack. Isn’t that right, Roderich?”

“That is so.” Roderich’s cool eyes narrowed at Francis, perhaps showing a hint of cool-headed jealousy to Francis’ casual touches with Elizaveta.

Ivan, on the other hand, simply laughed at the scene before him, and turned towards Francis with a child-like smile on his pale face. “I see the Spades have arrived as well, _da_? Their King as well, I presume.”

“Oh yes,” Francis perked up at the mention of the kingdom his lover helped rule. “I thought I saw the King of Spades moving over to the royal couple from Hearts…. but where’s this interest coming from?”

Ivan chuckled lightly, lightly swaying the glass of wine between his fingers. “That one is a lot slyer than one would expect just from his youthful face.”

“Oh?” Francis grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Did something happen at your… one-on-one meeting, then?”

“Nothing that is going through your mind right now, my friend,” Ivan said gently but firmly, sipping slowly at his wine as his big, violet eyes searched undoubtedly for Alfred in the crowds. “Another young king, but so different from the one holding the throne in Hearts, _da_?”

“That is true,” Francis agreed. “He’s a little more tolerable than Ludwig, for one. I suppose.”

Roderich cleared his throat by Francis’ side. “As wonderful as your evaluation of my cousin is, I believe your orchestra is getting restless, Francis. Your Queen, Jack and Ace have all arrived already, as well.”

Francis lifted and turned his gaze towards the entrance where Lili and Vash were stuck In polite small talk with one of their kingdom’s nobles, a beautiful woman with a long, luscious red hair tied up to a bun. Francis smiled, recalling the nights he had spent with her some months ago – wonderful times, those had been.

“Very well,” he said to Roderich and the rest of the company, bowing courteously at Elizaveta just as Ivan offered his hand to his wife. Elizaveta took it graciously, but the apologetic look she gave to Roderich, her true love, was impossible to miss as Francis straightened himself. “I shall give them the cue, then.”

On his way to the front where the orchestra was located, Francis caught a glimpse of Arthur smiling softly as he discussed something quietly with a clearly embarrassed Queen of Hearts. The sight of the unguarded expression caught Francis unprepared. There had been only a few times when Arthur had smiled like that during their acquaintances so far.

 _I want to see it more,_ Francis decided, smiling wryly to himself as he gave orchestra the sign to begin and announced the beginning of the ball to the nobility and royalty in the room.

And then he was off to find Lili again; the first dance would always be for his petite Queen, after all, even though Vash resented that tradition as his sneering face attested when Francis passed him.

Such a loyal sibling. Beautiful.

*

Arthur couldn’t understand the churning uneasiness bubbling in his stomach that had started when he had caught sight of Francis smiling winningly at the Queen of Clubs. It had been only for a second, since Arthur had then got caught up in a conversation with mild-mannered and pleasant Queen of Hearts. And for the time being, Kiku had managed to distract Arthur from the thought of Francis and the approaching dances.

But then he was abruptly pulled away from that pleasant conversation – about their homes and the approaching diplomatic visit to the Hearts’ lands – when Francis had announced the ball would finally begin and the orchestra shuffled into their positions.

Now in Alfred’s hold, Arthur felt queasy again and not only because of the approaching assault on his feet.

“Artie—Arthur?” Alfred murmured. “You alright, dude?”

“God, when will you fix your atrocious language?” Arthur retorted irritably as the music started and so did the dance as well, Alfred leading him into the slow rhythm of a waltz. “I’m fine as long as you don’t kill my feet.”

A flash of hurt crossed Alfred’s face, but it disappear as soon as it had appeared. Instead, Alfred pouted huffily. “Chill, would ya? I was just worried… you look a little pale… Did ya eat enough snacks?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Arthur sighed, voice taking on a softer tone as he forced a small smile on his lips. “Let’s get this over with, Alfred.”

“Now, that’s the spirit!”

Arthur’s eyes trailed around the ballroom as they danced, Alfred’s body moving better than before and being more receptive to adjustments Arthur made to their steps. It was as pleasant as dancing with Alfred in the lead could be, but Arthur did not found much joy in it as he tried to locate Francis amidst the dancing couples.

It was difficult since there were so many shades of gold and orange around, but eventually Arthur managed to catch a glimpse of platinum blond hair and wide shoulders passing the middle of the floor with the petite Lili Zwingli.

It was torturous, really – being unable to say and do the things he truly wanted. It was not anything new, considering his occupation as a queen, and normally he did not think much about it asides from the times his yearning for the sea and its adventures came back to him – which was nothing a good ride with Bess wouldn’t tame.

The first waltz ended quicker than Arthur had expected, and Alfred’s hands abandoned him as the young King went to search other ways to amuse himself – probably at his older brother’s expense, Arthur thought as he watched Alfred go.

“He certainly has energy, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” Arthur admitted as he turned towards Kiku, who had addressed him gently and with a small smile on his lips. “I’m only four years older than him, and yet it feels like I can’t match him.”

“Oh yes,” Kiku nodded in understanding as he fanned at his face with his hand, obviously feeling discomfort in the densely populated room. “My King is a few years younger than myself too, and he certainly has much more energy than I ever had.”

“Ludwig does seem like he is… strong-willed,” Arthur said slowly, before adding hastily, “Not that I mean that in a bad way. Men like him are reliable, no?”

Glancing around, Arthur could see the Jack of Hearts tugging his king by the red sleeve of his prim, red jacket, possibly wrinkling it. The Jack didn’t seem to care, and laughed as he said something to Ludwig. Over the other noise in the room, Feliciano’s words were inaudible to Arthur and Kiku.

“They’re being rather obvious,” Arthur muttered.

“It’s simply how they are,” Kiku said, his eyes too directed towards his king and jack, who were merrily settling into their positions for the next dance. Tango? Arthur looked around the room, searching for that one tuft of blond hair with his eyes. He also had to wonder about the choice of dance - even though most of the dresses for tonight were nowhere near as pompous or stiff as normally...

Francis, that lech. Arthur scowled at the thought. 

“I suppose, but is it proper?” Arthur scoffed when he couldn’t find the said lech. He could, however, see Antonio kissing the hand of someone that looked a lot like Feliciano – his older brother, if Arthur remembered right. Lovino? Romano? It was one of those names.

“Ah, _mon cher_ , you’ll find that sometimes true love does not care for the stiffness of propriety.” Francis had sneaked up on him _again,_ and Arthur visibly flinched in reaction before turning to glare at the man that had come up to them from behind.

Kiku looked just a little amused, clearly accustomed to life’s little surprises such as this, and politely bowed his head to the King of Diamonds. “You have decorated the room wonderfully.”

“Why thank you,” Francis repeated Kiku’s gesture. “It was a task most difficult, but it’s all worth it if it receives such attention from the beautiful Queen of Hearts.”

Arthur felt his mouth twitch in irritation. _This man…_

Kiku was not charmed by the compliment. “I believe you would say that to anyone wearing a dress tonight, King of Diamonds. Is it not so?”

“I would never lie,” Francis gasped. “I truly do mean every word I say.”

“Of course you do,” Arthur piped in dryly, casting Francis an unimpressed stare. “What is it that you came to us for?”

“To request a dance,” Francis cooed, undeterred as he extended his hand for Arthur to take. “A hot and passionate tango for a temperamental queen fits well, no?”

Arthur wrinkled his nose in displeasure before giving an apologetic look to Kiku as he placed his hand over Francis’.  “I suppose this is it for now, Kiku.”

“There’s always time for discussion later,” Kiku said and gestured at them to go on. “Have fun, Arthur.”

“Thank you,” Arthur mumbled, staring firmly at anything but Francis, whose warm hand held his as he pulled Arthur close to himself for the tango.

*

“You seem to be, ah, mad at me?” Francis mumbled against Arthur’s lips as he dipped Arthur back, one hand clutching onto the back of Arthur’s thigh through the soft folds of the dress before lifting Arthur back up and moving to twirl the other.

“I’m not,” Arthur said passively, voice tight like the strings of the playing violins. Francis’ heat and cologne were both overwhelming, and memories of the shared evening trickled into his mind. Hands on his hips, where they were located now too, lips on his skin, pleasure—

The physical attraction did not explain the sickening feeling in his gut – there was only one name for that feeling, really, but _jealousy_ made no sense either. What was there to be jealous of?

“Your lips may claim that,” Francis murmured as he swirled Arthur towards him again, his hand running up the side of Arthur’s thigh underneath the dress. Arthur’s breath hitched at the feeling and the look in Francis’ ocean blue eyes, sharp and attentive to Arthur’s mood. “Your face, however—“

Francis’ hand snagged a feel of Arthur’s thigh. It would be a lot more sexual if it wasn't through the fabric of clothes. “—tells another story.”

“Be quiet,” Arthur snapped quietly as he was up to his feet again, moving to the seductive tune of the music, “it’s probably just the horrible wine.”

“That’s insulting,” Francis retorted back, “and says a lot about your taste buds, _mon cher_.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” Arthur grumbled, pressing closer against Francis in the tango, “if that’s what you call an alcoholic drink, then you’re—“

“The alcohol is not the point,” Francis rolled his eyes, moving his hands to the small of Arthur’s back for the following swirls and twirls.

“Now,” Francis whispered after giving a quick glance around them, “tell me, my love; why are you mad at me?”

Arthur’s stomach dropped at the endearment that was far too meaningful for casual acquaintances and lovers. Not to mention that it was far too early to even—But it was Francis, _of course_ , the man had no sense of propriety in his bones.

 _My love_ , those lips said to him and who knew how many more.

Regardless, Arthur faltered. It must be the two glasses of wine he had had. Maybe it was his thirst for affection. Maybe it was—

“I’m not mad,” he said, voice weaker as he allowed his eyes to linger on Francis’ face. Admitting to a petty, stupid jealousy would be giving Francis something to use him against him – and the king had enough of that already. “I was… silly. Do not worry.”

Francis didn’t seem convinced as he led Arthur across the floor, the trains of Arthur’s dress fluttering behind. “Are you sure? I’d rather you enjoyed yourself tonight.”

The last few twirls of the tango went smoothly, Arthur’s heart racing from the exertion.

“Provided that you will keep me entertained,” he said quietly, eyes fixated on Francis’, “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. If you try hard, that is. No lackluster performance will do.”

The last two sentences were hissed out as a look of pure, irritating smugness spread over Francis’ handsome face.

“I don’t _do_ lackluster, my dear,” Francis purred as he dipped Arthur one last time to signify the end of the dance, lips awfully close to Arthur’s. “I shall prove it to you later, _oui_?”

Arthur found himself at a loss for words. It happened an awful lot around Francis, much to his dismay, but at least this time he managed to recover quickly.

“Bring it on,” he smirked, eyelids drooping as he allowed Francis to pull him up from the dip. “I look forward to it… most eagerly.”

The music had faded, and the sounds of people’s chatter finally registered in Arthur’s head again as he caught his breath, his hands lingering on Francis’ shoulders a little longer than necessary. Francis smiled at him knowingly as Arthur finally tore his hands back to his own sides where they belonged.

“The next one’s an even slower one,” the King of Diamonds murmured to the Queen of Spades. “May I have it with you?”

The Queen of Spades, whose reputation was a cold one amidst his own people outside the immediate confidants, gave a simple nod in response, emerald-like eyes flashing under the chandelier light. No one but the King of Diamonds took notice.

*

Alfred watched the pairs on the dancefloor curious – or rather, his clear eyes were focused on one pair in particular. Arthur and Francis, his Queen and the King of Diamonds. There was something, _something_ that nagged at him about the way Francis held Arthur a little too close. It was barely noticeable, really, but Alfred was bored and Ivan was dancing with Elizaveta or Kiku or whoever… so he watched.

And drank, of course. Wine, which was pretty difficult to get drunk on unless you were Arthur, but Alfred was Alfred so he was safe.

It was a slow dance now, and Alfred couldn’t explain why looking at them flustered him as much as it did. Part of it was amazement at how well the two looked together, he guessed: Arthur in the Diamonds’ colours against the King of Diamonds made a spectacular and aesthetically pleasing sight.

And Arthur appeared more relaxed, Alfred noticed with a hint of jealousy. Arthur was always more or less annoyed with him and never quite happy with him _or_ the arranged marriage between them – though, to be fair, Alfred wasn’t either. Happy with the marriage, that is, although the betrothal had gone fairly well and they had been almost like family all of Alfred’s life.

It was a politically _safe_ marriage, Alfred’s father had once explained to him before he had grown too weary to pay attention to his son or the matters of the kingdom.

Alfred had been okay with it, but it hadn’t take long to notice that Arthur wasn’t.

Alfred frowned at the thought and shook his head. No, no, he wasn’t supposed to think such gloomy things at a ball. There was wine! There was Gilbert! This was going to be _fun_ – although Gilbert seemed more interested in chatting Alfred’s brother up currently.

“If you keep making faces like that, you will get early wrinkles,” Ivan’s voice commented from his side, startling Alfred who yelped indignantly in reaction and spilled some wine on his royal blue jacket.

“Fuck! Ivan, don’t do that, dude!”

Ivan, the insufferable bastard, had the guts to smirk a little. “You were deep in thought. I called you at least twice, my friend. Watching your Queen in another’s arms, were you?”

“No! I mean, yeah! ‘Cause I was bored,” Alfred muttered incoherently, taking one last sip from his wine while trying to wipe his suit jacket clean. Fuck, that was going to leave a stain… Arthur and Yao would bite his head off!

“Hmm,” Ivan hummed, lilac eyes turning to where Alfred’s had been moments ago. “I cannot fault you for being jealous; those two look rather good together.”

“What the hell, man?” Alfred raised an eyebrow at Ivan before turning to relocate Arthur and Francis with his eyes. “It’s not like that all. Artie and I are like brothers – which makes the marriage deal sound kinda gross, now that I think about it…”

“But you do not like him being wooed by anyone?” Ivan’s smile was audible in his taunting voice. “That’s rather selfish of you, King of Spades.”

“I said it’s not like that! Geesh, would ya listen…”

Ivan said nothing, apparently waiting for Alfred to calm down a bit more.

Alfred heaved out a sigh as Francis and Arthur swung close by the two kings. There was no awkwardness that came from dancing with an almost complete stranger, and Alfred couldn’t help but pay attention to it and the hand against Arthur’s hip. It was a bit too low to be entirely appropriate.

“It’s just,” Alfred started, voice contemplative, “that he’s… been there for me for so long, y’know? He’s all about propriety and shit, and he’s always scolding me for stupid reasons, and it’s… weird to see him having good time, I guess? Artie doesn’t usually let himself go—“

Alfred gestured towards the dancefloor. “—not like this, at least.”

Ivan hummed, staying silent for a moment as though he was carefully considering Alfred’s words. “Maybe the King of Diamonds has already seduced him.”

“Someone seducing Artie? Now, that’d be the day.”

“He’s not entirely unattractive, you know,” Ivan said gently, some laughter in his voice. “Besides, if Francis finds something fascinating in a person, then he’ll readily throw himself into the game even if that person were unattractive by other people’s standards.”

Alfred’s stomach dropped. “You saying he’d use Artie to—?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Ivan corrected, finishing his own glass and gently taking the empty one between Alfred’s fingers before he’d crush it. “But that is a possibility, yes? The man is quite the… flirter. I’m sure you have noticed that, too.”

Alfred thought back to the trade negotiations. Although Francis had seemed incredibly distracted, he certainly had been over-the-top friendly with the personnel of the inn.

“What am I to do about it, though?” Alfred shrugged helplessly. “’Sides, Artie does need to get laid if it’ll get that stick from his ass removed, y’know.”

“If you say so,” Ivan murmured. “But that still does not explain why you look like you want to murder Francis.”

“Well—I guess I’m just not used to have all his attention anymore,” Alfred said with another shrug of his shoulders as he turned to face Ivan, who was looking at him. The glasses of wine were already gone.

“Let’s go get some snacks? I’m hungry as hell,” Alfred added with a more cheerful tone, adjusting the spectacles that had started to slide down his nose. Ivan, who was not nearly as scary as Alfred had thought the first time they had met, smiled in response.

“I, too, am a bit hungry,” Ivan admitted as he gestured Alfred to lead the way, away from the dancefloor where the couples were still slow dancing.

“Great!” Alfred grasped Ivan by the elbow and started tugging him, laughing to distract himself from the ominous feeling Ivan’s words about Francis had left brewing in his head.

*

“Shall I introduce the gardens to you?” Francis asked, eyeing at the King of Hearts that was approaching them. Arthur inspected the look on Francis’ face: tight-lipped and resentful, yet strangely beautiful. Arthur wondered if there ever was an expression that looked ugly on this man.

_Oh, stop torturing yourself, Arthur._

“If you wish,” Arthur shrugged, clasping onto Francis’ arm but throwing Ludwig an apologetic look nonetheless as Francis gently started to lead them away from the ballroom. Maybe next time, King of Hearts. “I hear it’s magnificent, but I don’t believe in hearsay.”

“Prepare to be amazed, my Queen,” Francis teased as they slipped out from the crowded room. As they were both adorned in gold, no one paid much attention to their disappearance. Perhaps that was another reason for sending the dress.

There were few servants around as they descended down the stair, but Francis didn’t take the chance to steal a kiss or a grope. Neither did Arthur, though he was increasingly more aware of the familiar warmth that coiled inside himself. Perhaps the tango was to blame; it was a seductive dance to begin with, but Francis’ touch made it all the more alluring.

“Roses are breathtaking at this time of year around here,” Francis whispered as they slipped into the gardens from a small backdoor. No one was around – the gardeners had a day off, Francis explained as he wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist now that they were in the clear.

And Francis was right. The roses – yellow, orange, red roses – that grew in delicate patterns around them were breathtakingly clear in colour and the green of their stems dark as it ought to be to Arthur’s mind.

“You were not exaggerating,” Arthur admitted after a moment of awe. Francis’ hand squeezed gently at his hip in response. “This is… beautiful.”

The orange petals glowed with the sunset, and Arthur stared at the sight, completely transfixed. Alfred had laughed at his interest in flowers when he had first found out, and Arthur had never brought the subject up with him again.

But there was a person that was as interested as him, and he was right by Arthur’s side now.

“Very much like you,” Francis said quietly, breath tickling Arthur’s cheek. “You cannot imagine how amazing you look to me right now.”

“You don’t need to say things like that to get me into your bed,” Arthur said dryly, breath hitching at the touch of Francis’ lips on his cheek. A quick peck, that was all, but it was more than they had been able to do in the ballroom.

Francis murmured, “I’m not saying it to get you to bed me. I’m saying it because it is true, _mon ange,_ my angel.”

And that was enough to undo that remaining spikes of the jealousy that had stabbed Arthur’s stomach before.

Turning his head to look at Francis, Arthur couldn’t help but smile like a fool. He tried not to, he truly did, because—because? He wasn’t entirely sure why anymore.

Francis’ eyes glimmered with delight, and Arthur couldn’t help himself at this point. The metaphorical camel’s back broke, and Arthur leaned in to kiss Francis full on the lips.


	12. the blue roses of spades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wine had been a really, really bad idea.

Both of Francis’ hands moved to hold Arthur’s hips, fingers pressing into the flowy fabric of the dress as the man returned the kiss initiated by the Queen of Spades. Gentle at first, it was little more than a brush of curious lips, and yet Arthur could feel his stomach fluttering at the sensation. It had been a trying few weeks between now and the last time.

Eyes closed, Arthur moved in to feel more, to get more of Francis’ mouth, and Francis complied the unspoken request happily while Arthur’s hands moved up past his shoulders and into his hair.

The setting sun warmed Arthur’s skin, but nothing could warm him more than Francis right then as the King nipped at his lower lip, teeth gently grazing at the skin all the while his hands rubbed Arthur’s hips. Arthur hummed, licking at one of Francis’ lips clumsily as he fell deeper into the daze of want.

Francis’ lips parted obediently, and then there was _tongue_.                                                               

Arthur trembled even as the lip lock broke, lips wet and sore from the heated kiss, and he didn’t dare to open his eyes for a while as he calmed his breath and racing heart. Shit, _shit_ , why did Francis render him into such a mess?

Letting go of Francis’ hair, Arthur opened his eyes once he was sure he had himself under control again.

“Getting ahead of ourselves, are we now, dear?” Francis smiled as he teased Arthur, hands still firm on Arthur’s hips. “Perhaps you really do like the possibility of being caught.”

“I didn’t see you protesting to that either, you arse,” Arthur retorted as his face heated from irritation. His lips still tasted like Francis’, he noted distractedly.

“Point noted,” Francis purred as he eased his hold from Arthur’s hips and withdrew until they both had their personal spaces back to themselves. “Shall we continue, though? There is much to see, love, and so little time before people will come look for us.”

Arthur followed Francis, linking their arms again as Francis showed him more roses, this time in colours that differed from the kingdom’s royal shades of gold and orange. There were dark red, pale pink, and even deep blue roses, each more beautiful than the last with their fragile petals and thorny stems.

Arthur stared at the blue roses – they were few in number, but they were all the more precious for that.

“Growing _those_ was a pain, let me tell you,” Francis huffed when he saw where Arthur’s eyes lingered. “Just ask my gardeners. But I love them all the more for their challenge, yes.”

“Ah. Seeds from my kingdom, then?” Arthur mused, smiling a little at the feeling of home the glowing blue petals roused in him. Amused, Arthur added, “You really are a fan of roses.”

“Why should I not be?” Francis laughed. “Roses have such wonderful meanings in the flower language, don’t you know. Red for true love…”

Francis’ fingers adjusted the flower tucked into the front of his orange-tinted suit jacket.

“…white for innocence and other such attributes… pink for grace…” Francis’ eyes met Arthur’s. “…orange for desire and passion, of course.”

“Naturally,” Arthur murmured.

“And then there’s the blue rose,” Francis continued as they walked up to the blue roses for closer inspection, Francis’ hand finding Arthur’s to hold onto. “Do you know what the blue rose stands for?”

“Mystery, doesn’t it?” Arthur bent down slightly to take a sniff of the flowers. “Or attaining the impossible, if I recall correctly…”

“Yes, those too,” Francis said as he bent down beside Arthur, hand on the small of the queen’s back. “There’s one more meaning to the flower, though.”

“What’s that?” Arthur couldn’t remember if there even was a third meaning, and so he turned towards Francis, raising eyebrows at the king expectantly. The gentle expression on Francis’ face was unexpected, and Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Love at first sight,” Francis said slowly and with that tender smile hanging on his lips. “That’s what the blue rose stands for, as well.”

A pause, during which Francis shuffled closer, arms moving to wrap itself around Arthur’s waist again.

“Do you happen to believe in love at first sight, Arthur?”

Arthur swayed on his heels a bit as he tried to regain his balance under Francis’ weight and his eyes, so serious and curious right now.

“Love at first sight?” he murmured, raising an eyebrow at Francis as he repositioned himself so that he was sitting on his knees, the hem of the dress pulled up to his lap to avoid grass stains. “It’s a nice concept in fiction, but in reality there’s very little chance of that happening. So no, I don’t believe it to be plausible.”

“That’s rather sad,” Francis mused as he too went to sit down, just not on the grass… instead, on Arthur’s lap after ushering Arthur’s hands away to make room.

Arthur looked at him warily, but allowed it to happen. They were safe behind large bushes that kept them out of direct line of sight if one came out to the front of the garden.

“I rather believe in it myself,” Francis said as he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s and held steady eye contact. “It’s a little like – instant connection, one that goes beyond all sense and reason.”

Francis’ hands rubbed at Arthur’s sides as he continued, voice sweet and soft like cotton candy at festivals. “It’s a little frightening, too, because it so clearly shouldn’t be possible, like you said. There’s the pressure of not knowing much about the other person, yet knowing enough to feel strong and passionate attraction between them."

Arthur’s face grew hot from the way Francis talked about the subject like he had experienced it. Like he _was_ experiencing it! ( _With whom,_ Arthur’s mind cried out.) And Francis’ eyes were still on him, soft like the fabrics Arthur surrounded himself in at balls.

“I think there was a tragedy written about that,” Arthur finally managed a coherent response, though he felt he was drowning in Francis eyes and touch. In Francis himself. “Terribly dangerous, that kind of love.”

“Yes,” Francis agreed in a breathless whisper as he tilted his head to kiss Arthur’s lips lightly. A peck, and then another – the passion contained tightly and withheld from leaking over. But Arthur saw how much Francis wanted to kiss him more, and that—that was thrilling.

“A terribly dangerous love, it is,” Francis repeated, lips parted and barely brushing against Arthur’s. “Yet such a romantic notion, don’t you think so?”

Arthur shivered, the evening air raising goosebumps on his skin. Francis on his lap did not help matters, either, nor did the voice he used.

“Has that happened to you, then?” Arthur mumbled, moving his hands to Francis’ shoulders. Ready to pull him into a kiss and more.

“I’m starting to think so, yes,” Francis admitted as he shifted, wiggling his hips promiscuously. He grinned when Arthur gave a visible shudder, fingers digging into the King’s shoulders. “I’m still working on understanding just how it happened.”

“Work on it later, you twit,” Arthur muttered, glaring half-heartedly. “Now who’s the one getting carried away, Francis?”

“Mm,” Francis hummed as he squeezed Arthur’s buttocks firmly. Arthur’s jaw clenched, eyes squinting with the effort to not gasp. “Do you mind, love?”

“They’ll notice we’re gone,” Arthur pointed out. “As much as I’d like to, let’s be smart for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Francis smirked as his hand slipped under the dress and to Arthur’s ass. “Ah, briefs? I was hoping you’d go commando.”

“You’re the fucking _king_ of this place,” Arthur hissed, eyelids drooping as Francis’ hand kneaded his behind. Those hands were definitely good for this, and good for—

Arthur swallowed. “Also stop rubbing my arse, Francis.”

Francis pouted like a kicked puppy, but he did as he was told. “They’re all getting steadily drunk off the wine, _mon cher_ , there really is no problem—“

“Tonight,” Arthur whispered, even though he couldn’t deny the spike of desire that had risen under Francis’ ministrations. “Your chambers – unless you share it with your Queen, in which case—“

Francis kissed Arthur’s lips. “Lili shares her chambers with her brother. I sleep alone.”

“Hah,” Arthur muttered. “Most of time, I think you have company.”

Francis kissed him again, longer this time. “Are you jealous, _mon ange?_ Trust me, I’m not sleeping with anyone else but you at the moment. Nor do I intend to.”

Arthur sighed into the kiss, eyelids fluttering as his determination wavered under the warm touch of affection. “I’m _not—_ I really am not—“

“Yet you keep getting angry at the thought of me sleeping with another, isn’t it so?” Francis said with a playful tone as he brought his hands to Arthur’s back. “Or is the thought of not being able to have sex with me that upsetting to you? _Mon Dieu_ , you can be quite perverted…”

“Keep talking, and see if I’ll share the night with you!” Arthur snapped, face twisting as he pushed Francis with the palms of his hands hard enough to get the king off of him. The unreasonable anger clouding his mind, Arthur gathered himself and his dress before standing up and hurrying away, back towards the front of the garden where the orange and yellow roses were at.

He didn’t dare to look back at Francis as he speedwalked back into the castle, chest heaving as he paused to catch his breath. No one had come into the garden besides him and Francis, that was good.

Arthur glanced behind him, gritting his teeth when he saw Francis sauntering back as well. At least he had the decency to look sorry after irritating Arthur by poking fun of the murky feeling that had come back at the thought of Francis’ sexual escapades.

Arthur hurried up the stairs leading up to the ballroom by the time Francis had come inside.

Fuck him, Arthur thought spitefully, just fuck him.

*

At least the bitter taste of wine on his tongue soothed his nerves a little bit, even though Arthur knew he shouldn’t be resorting to alcohol to get his mind off Francis and his tactless choice of words. But he was just a simple human, in the end, and susceptible to whimsical desires. His strange arrangement with Francis was proof of that, as well.

The fifth longish sip from the glass finally brought a pleasant fuzz to his brain, and Arthur smiled to himself. Hardly the same pleasant smile he had held earlier, but a smile regardless.

He wasn’t even completely sure why he had got so angry with Francis at the garden. It wasn’t like Francis had been entirely wrong in his assumption – in either one, actually: the thought of Francis sleeping around irritated him, as did the thought of being dropped for another sex… arrangement, that was one word for it, he supposed.

It was a lot like the unease he had felt when Alfred had taken up Yao’s offer a few weeks after their wedding. While it was not outright jealousy, it was… the feeling of inadequacy? The feeling of not quite being enough…

Arthur took another sip from the glass to dispel the negative thoughts that kept pressing into his consciousness.

That was when the King of Hearts approached him again. By himself, this time – Feliciano had run off somewhere, perhaps with his brother. Arthur couldn’t really care any less about the social lives of other people right then, though.

Arthur gave Ludwig a polite nod regardless, placing the now empty glass away. “Ludwig.”

“Arthur,” Ludwig nodded in return, his icy blue eyes taking in Arthur’s stiff countenance. “A rough night, is it?”

“Francis,” Arthur shrugged as if the name was explanation enough.

“Ah.” Ludwig nodded in understanding. To him, that was more than enough to work as an explanation. “He does make a habit out of driving people up the wall.”

“He’s unfortunately good at it,” Arthur commented, pursing his lips as he eyed a passing tray of half full wine glasses. No, he shouldn’t. He had to have more self-control than this in front of others.

“That he is.” Ludwig followed Arthur’s gaze, and sighed. “You look a bit pale, though. Do you want to catch a bit of fresh air from one of the balconies?”

“That would probably be for the best,” Arthur murmured as he let himself be led away from the corner of the ballroom and towards the cool night air that crept in from the half-open balcony doors. He noticed Francis peering at them rather conspicuously from a side, but the King of Diamonds didn’t approach them.

Arthur’s lips curled into a sneer. Good.

“About the visit we discussed before,” Ludwig started once they were on the balcony, the doors half-closed behind them and Arthur leaning against the railing as he fought with the mild nausea he had been struggling with since coming back from the gardens.

“Ah, yes.” Arthur hummed, thinking back on the correspondence regarding the matter. “It was decided to be arranged for next month, right? To give you enough time to make preparations and plans for the few days Alfred and I will spend there.”

“Yes, that is correct,” Ludwig said, his voice stern with cool propriety that Arthur appreciated now more than ever. “My Queen and I were wondering if there were any particular sights you and your King would like to see during your stay, other than the government buildings and such.”

“Alfred probably wants to go see something cultural,” Arthur said evenly as he considered this. “Theater is not for him, though – modern music, perhaps? He prefers that to classical. A strange lad, he is. As for sightseeing, well, you’re better off inquiring that from Alfred. I’m not that fond of driving around just for the sake of looking at aesthetically pleasing monuments.”

“I see.” There was a wry smile attached to Ludwig’s face as he talked. “You take his opinions seriously outside the legislative matters?”

“Legislation goes a bit beyond his willingness to understand,” Arthur shrugged as he turned back to the railing and closed his eyes. The evening air was cool and tender against his burning face. Wine, for sure this time. “There’s no harm in indulging him outside the official matters, even though he completely forgets that I do this.”

“I see,” Ludwig repeated politely. “Shall we discuss the matter later when we both have our spouses with us?”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said dismissively. “Go dance with your Jack, since that appears to be what you want.”

The choked sound of Ludwig gasping was immensely satisfying, and Arthur grinned giddily to himself as the heavy footsteps left the balcony and Arthur.

Another pair of footsteps came in as soon as Ludwig’s had disappeared into the ballroom, and Arthur had a bad feeling he knew who these belonged to.

“Francis.”

“ _Oui_.”

Arthur inhaled, the sound sharp and audible over the awkward silence. “What are you—Why?”

“I made you upset,” Francis said. To his credit, he did sound pained and regretful. “I would like to apologize, if you let me. I may not entirely understand the reason, but your happiness is preferable to your anger or sadness, so here I am.”

“If you don’t understand, then why apologize at all?”

“I said it already: I like to see you smile rather than frown as you did when you pushed me away. And I truly am sorry – is that not enough reason to apologize for my words? I went too far with the teasing.”

“You’re saying this to get me to sleep with you,” Arthur said bitterly, hands clutching at the hard stone of the railing. The thought that Francis wasn’t actually sorry made his skin crawl and the nausea in his stomach grow. Arthur frowned, the fuzziness in his head increasing.

“I’m not.” Francis stepped closer, but stopped when Arthur’s shoulders tensed. A sigh followed, and then he continued, in a serious tone, “I wouldn’t mind if you don’t wish to lay with me tonight or tomorrow night – this is not about that. This is about me hurting your feelings and me trying to fix that mistake. I am sorry.”

It must have been the alcohol that made the tears spring out. Certainly couldn’t be Francis’ words alone.

Arthur bit at his lip to keep himself from sniffling even as the droplets of water rolled down from the corners of his eyes. “Y-you _idiot_. You don’t understand, and yet—“

To his own horror, he was stammering the words and more tears leaked out as the pitch black feeling of an old insecurity clawed at him.

Definitely too much wine, he thought dazedly when Francis finally held him from behind, nose nuzzling at the back of his head as Francis murmured soft words in another tongue.

“Don’t cry, _mon cher_ , don’t cry,” Francis whispered in the common language. “I’m here to listen if you wish me to understand.”

“Not drunk enough for that, I’m afraid,” Arthur managed to laugh over his quiet tears.

“That’s alright, too,” Francis hummed and nuzzled at the back of Arthur’s head, obviously not daring to kiss him anywhere just yet. “You do not owe an explanation.”

 _Even though I’d like to know what upset you so_ were the words Francis didn’t say but which Arthur heard nevertheless.

Arthur furiously wiped his face clean with the palm of his hand, ducking his head away from Francis’. Shit, he really shouldn’t be allowed to drink – alcohol always got him emotional one way or another.

“I—yeah, whatever,” Arthur mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. The fuzziness in his head hadn’t gone fully away, but he felt better regardless. “You’re forgiven. Just—“

“Just…?” Francis prompted gently as Arthur turned around, nearly tumbling into Francis’ chest. Arthur glanced down, unable to meet the other’s eyes as his cheeks burned.

“Just don’t,” Arthur swallowed thickly as his eyes watered again, “remind me that you could replace me so easily—“

The next thing Arthur was aware of was the warmth of Francis’ embrace and the rustle of their clothes as Francis’ arms gripped Arthur tightly against him.

“You didn’t understand what I was insinuating before…?” Francis laughed dryly, and Arthur flinched but snuggled further into the embrace regardless. Fuck dignity.

Francis pulled back just enough to be able to look at Arthur’s face. Blue eyes glimmered like the stars that were starting to appear on the sky, and Arthur’s heart thumped painfully.

“You _are_ special to me, _mon amour_ ,” Francis assured, hands leaving the embrace to caress Arthur’s dampened cheeks. “It has all happened so fast, but trust me – you being a part of my life is nothing short of a miracle.”

“You’re so cheesy, oh gods,” Arthur bemoaned, but a tentative smile touched his mouth and eyes as he met Francis’ gaze head-on.

“Perhaps,” Francis agreed, running his thumbs over the slopes of Arthur’s cheeks. “You render me into such a state, Arthur.”

At that point Francis must have felt the heat on Arthur’s cheeks, because Francis grinned. A rather boyish look on him, Arthur thought distantly.

“May I—“ Francis’ grin faded a bit, his tone taking the serious tone again. “May I kiss you?”

“God, I thought you would never ask,” Arthur groaned, smiling when Francis’ lips met his in a slow, tender kiss that spoke volumes of how genuine Francis had been with him just now.

Arthur’s hands flew to grip the sides of Francis’ suit just as he parted his lips to reciprocate the kiss, the deep want that had been burning low inside him all these weeks finally releasing bit by bit. The combination of that and the wine made him disregard all possibilities of being seen. Just as long as he could have Francis kiss him right there and then, nothing else mattered much in his mind.

Francis’ hands on his face, his hands on Francis’ sides, and their lips locked under thousands of stars and behind the glass doors that anyone could look in at any given time if one were to push aside the curtains that offered very little protection.

“Arthur,” Francis said against his lips, “do you still want to dance?”

“Not particularly,” Arthur gasped, face even hotter than before under Francis’ touch. “I want _you_.”

“Oh, _Dieu_ ,” Francis murmured before pressing another kiss against Arthur’s swelling lips. “My chambers, then?”

“Yes,” Arthur said hurriedly, kissing Francis back. Francis, however, halted for a moment, hands stiff on Arthur’s cheeks.

“…Fran—?”

“You’re drunk, I really shouldn’t,” Francis explained stiffly, ever so considerate. Arthur snorted, pressing himself hard against the King of Diamonds.

“Not drunk enough to not be able to consent to this,” he said, voice clear but low and eyes meeting Francis’. “Francis, I want it. And, for the love of every deity that exists out there, don’t make me say it again.”

Francis’ eyes widened at the clarity of mind Arthur displayed before crinkling again with mischievous mirth.

“Very well, then,” Francis murmured, leaning to give a short nibble on Arthur’s ear as his hands went down to squeeze Arthur’s rear through the fabric of the dress. Whispering, Francis added, “I shall make love to you all night long, if that is what you truly want, _mon amour._ ”

Arthur shuddered against Francis, his blood rushing in his veins at the promise.

“Yeah,” Arthur managed, “I do.”

They kissed again to seal the promise made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, not quite sure what to think about this chapter, but anyways.   
> Thank you all who have left comments and kudos! You've been a big encouragement for me :)


	13. wonderland of hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sure get talkative when they're supposed to have sex.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak out from the ballroom without raising any suspicion. Francis had been right: people had started feeling the effects of a few glasses of wine, thus becoming louder and more insufferable as well as giddy and easily amused. Roderich and Elizaveta didn’t deem it necessary to play the game of indifference with each other, and held hands while conversing quietly with equally loving expression flitting across their faces.

It helped that Ivan, the King of Clubs, was nowhere to be seen.

Dodging the servants, though, was another thing entirely, but neither Arthur nor Francis was particularly concerned about it.

Francis, because his court had got used to dealing with his affairs – or rather, used to turning their eyes away from them.

Arthur, because he was tipsy enough to lose most of his inhibitions – and he did not want to fall back into his early sullen mood that had come from an insecurity almost as old as himself.

“They shouldn’t be up here anymore after preparing the rooms for guests,” Francis murmured to Arthur as they tiptoed their way up the stairs, Arthur’s heels clicking against the stone as he followed the King, whose hand held Arthur’s firmly. As if Arthur would run away from him again.

“How convenient,” Arthur mused, but he’d much rather be doing something else than talking right now.

“It is, isn’t it?” Francis laughed. Francis did that often, Arthur had noticed, and it was irritating to try to tell which laugh was genuine and which was not. Arthur frowned, but the grumpy expression was wiped away from his countenance the moment they reached the third floor as Francis kissed him, making his own desperation known as he nibbled at Arthur’s lips.

“Francis—“ Arthur moaned, all his senses overwhelmed by the feeling of Francis. The scent of rose-tinted cologne, the touch of his soft lips, and the feeling of those hands grabbing at him…

This man drove him absolutely insane.

“I’m sorry,” Francis said, sounding anything but apologetic as he pushed Arthur against a wall, “I’m not very patient at the moment.”

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care. Francis’ touch was all he wanted at this moment after a miserable evening spent wallowing in his fear of abandonment that was especially easy to trigger after a few glasses of any alcohol.

The kiss was harder, more intense this time around as both their passions could not be held in anymore, and it rendered Arthur an absolute mess. Panting and mewling shamelessly like back in Francis’ cottage, Arthur pulled Francis even closer by the belt.

Francis rolled his hips torturously slowly, as if to reaffirm that _all_ of Arthur was into it. Arthur grunted into the mouth pressed on his as he returned the favour.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was different from the time before, and it unnerved him as Francis broke their kiss and cast him a glance heavy with want and a glimmering emotion that Arthur did not want to acknowledge to be there. It was easy to ignore now that his reasoning was clouded, but—

But it was there, and it was exhilarating.

“Come,” Francis said thickly, but rather unnecessarily as he lifted Arthur up into his arms despite the Queen’s not too quietly hissed protests.

“Francis—!” Arthur hissed, fingers moving to clutch the cravat around Francis’ neck. The choking sound he earned from Francis was satisfying, but—“The fuck do you think you’re—“

“Indulge me for now, would you?” Francis choked, frowning at Arthur. “We’ll get to the good part sooner this way.”

“Hurry up, then,” Arthur muttered as he relished his hold on the fluttery cravat and stared up at Francis. “I expect to be fucked properly for this awful evening.”

“You’re even blunter when under the influence, huh…?” Francis smiled in amusement before kissing Arthur’s forehead. “ _Mon amour_ , you truly have no idea how much you—“

“Less talking, more _walking_.”

“ _Oui, oui_.”

*

“Alfred, perhaps you should stop drinking,” Ivan said contemplatively as he watched the younger man gulp down another shot of pure vodka. Ivan had managed to sneak in a few bottles beneath the folds of his robes. Since no one inspected the members of a foreign royal family, it had been much easier than Ivan had even dared to suspect.

“ _You_ are trying to tell me to stop?” Alfred looked up at the other, eyes dazed but the beautiful sky blue colour could not be hindered by the drunken haze that glazed them. “You? Ivan, you’re like—ten times worse than Artie, when he reaaaally gets goin’, ‘cept you can actually handle your—your alcohol.”

“Yes, and yet you still managed to get me drunk at the meeting between ourselves,” Ivan said dryly, still bemused by how that had happened but also incredibly amused by how shrewd Alfred had been. He had to give kudos where they were due. “That was very devious of you.”

“Yes, that was brilliant of me,” Alfred laughed, head tilting back as he did so. Ivan flinched, but covered it up with a pleasant smile. Ah, this was why he hated being around drunken people unless he was also inebriated.

They were on the fourth floor, where some guest chambers were located as well as libraries and other rooms that Ivan had not ventured into despite his several visits to this particular castle, whose name did not come out right from Ivan’s tongue even though he was particularly good at Francis’ second language that was not the common language all four of the kingdoms shared.

Ivan gulped down the rest of his shot and adjusted himself against the railing. He could hear steps echoing from the third floor as well as the unmistakable smooching sound that was a dead giveaway as to who ventured there.

“It seems like Francis has found his lay of the night,” he commented idly to Alfred as he tilted his gaze until he could see the floor below through the openings between in the lower part of the railing.

“Hmm?” Alfred followed Ivan’s gaze as he swayed unsteadily, even though he was safely sitting. “That looks kinda like Artie from a distance, huh. Weird. Guess I drank too much.”

Ivan didn’t tell Alfred that the person Francis had just pressed against a wall was indeed Alfred’s Queen, but he did stare at the sight with raised brows. He hadn’t _really_ expected this development, even though Francis had showered the Queen of Spades with a lot of attention when he thought no one was looking.

Francis Bonnefoy was _awful_ at keeping his affairs a secret, but Ivan had expected more from Alfred’s arranged spouse.

Ivan turned away from the sight when Alfred moved to sit beside him rather than across him, slumping against Ivan’s shoulder.

“Alfred? Are you tired?” Ivan asked cautiously when Alfred’s gloved hand pressed the top of his.

“Why do ya bother with me?” Alfred asked quietly, uncharacteristically hesitant as he pressed his cheek into Ivan’s shoulder. “M’just another king amongst others.”

Ivan tried to gauge where this mood had come from, but came up with nothing. Blinking, Ivan leaning his cheek against Alfred’s head in a show of affection that came to him easily due to a childhood shared with both an older and a younger sibling.

“You’re interesting,” Ivan said slowly, contemplating his response as to how to not give away too much about his interest in the younger king. It wasn’t anything indecent, of course, but it was difficult to explain without surrendering to flowery language. “And shrewd – you’re the first to have tricked me into signing a contract while drunk, you know? Of course I would be intrigued.”

Alfred snorted. “Yeah, I bet no one has tried that.”                                                                                            

“They really haven’t,” Ivan insisted. “Francis tried to charm me with—well, I’m sure you can hazard a guess, and Ludwig is too serious to pull a stunt like that on me, _da_?”

“Mm.” Alfred sighed, sounding wearier the longer it dragged on. “So you’re some sorta masochist, then? If you like people pulling pranks on you… Never woulda thought that ‘bout you.”

“Alright, it seems like it’s bedtime for you,” Ivan laughed, setting his hand to Alfred’s waist. “Let me help you up and I’ll get you to bed.”

“Nooooo,” Alfred whined, struggling out of Ivan’s grasp once he was lifted up. “There’s gotta be sooomething elshe to do still— Billiards?”

Ivan’s smile became a little more strained. “Alfred, you really should go to bed, _da_? I won’t be held accountable for anything silly you might pull in this state, after all.”

Alfred didn’t listen to him and even did the unthinkable, surprising Ivan once more.

Alfred pulled him into a sloppy, alcohol-encouraged kiss.

_Well._

_He really is a shrewd one_ was the thought that crossed Ivan’s mind before he pressed back, hands circling Alfred’s waist to keep the younger king steady.

He would have a fine time teasing Alfred about this tomorrow, _da_?

*

Francis’ heart was _pounding_ , and it wasn’t only because of the flood of arousal that sizzled in his veins. No, no, this was a very different kind of sensation, one that Francis was intimately familiar with despite whatever others thought.

Having carried Arthur into his chambers in the bridal style (his absolute favourite style, you see), he was loathe to set him down now that it was time, but Arthur’s impatience was a force not to be reckoned with, so Francis set him down on the silky sheets of the king-sized bed that took up most of the room.

Arthur pulled him down for a kiss as soon as he was laid down, further showing off his impatience with Francis. _For_ Francis.

Sighing in content, Francis closed his eyes and went down into the kiss as Arthur’s hands untied Francis’ hair and tousled it up by diving his fingers into the blond strands. It would be easy to mistake it for genuine affection birthed from something other than physical want.

Francis didn’t dwell on that thought. It would be too heartbreaking, he figured, although the fault would lie in him for falling too fast and too recklessly.

The rustling of their clothes was background noise in comparison to the sweet sounds that Arthur made against his mouth, very different from the irritated grumbling Arthur often produced. Francis found himself completely enraptured as he nibbled on Arthur’s lip and Arthur responded with the same breathless whimpers.

Francis pulled back, eyelids heavy as he half-opened them to take a look at Arthur’s face beneath his.

Flushed with a beautiful shade of red, Arthur breathed erratically, chest rising and falling unevenly as he caught his breath. Francis could feel heat rising on the skin of his own face from the sight, even more so when Arthur’s exquisite eyes opened up.

“Fran—?” A pink tongue licked the excessive saliva off Arthur’s lips, and Francis’ stomach tightened.

“Francis?” Arthur asked again, wide eyes peering up at Francis. “Something the matter?”

“I got lost into your beauty, _mon cher_ ,” Francis said honestly. How could he not? Conventionally beautiful Arthur might not be, but Francis liked what he saw – both outwardly and inwardly. A little too much, considering their positions. “I do not know how to contain myself around you, truly.”

“Idiot,” Arthur chastised him, and under the light of the chandelier lit above them Francis could see the green eyes flash. Arthur bucked his hips up against Francis’, slow but clumsy. Perhaps his motor skills had suffered from the few glasses of wine.

Arthur continued, his arms around Francis’ neck now, “There’s no need for you to hold yourself back when we’re alone, Francis.”

Francis smiled. “You know the right words to my heart, _mon amour_.”

“Less t-talking and more—“

Francis started rolling his hips against Arthur’s before the other could finish the sentence, the rustling of clothes growing in volume. Arthur’s voice still outdid them, the shameless moans loud over.

“Your dress,” Francis murmured, “let me help you out of it.”

He should have done that when they had first entered the room, but he had been thoughtless and too into the thought of Arthur’s lips against his and that flexible body.

“Okay,” Arthur said back in a gasp as they sat up, throwing their boots and heels aside before Francis started to untie the strings behind the dress Francis had sent to Arthur. It looked beautiful on the queen, just as Francis had thought it would.

“How did you even get my size?” Arthur murmured as Francis started tugging at the sleeves of the dress.

“Oh, I am good at estimating these things,” Francis said distractedly, pressing kisses as light as the wings of a butterfly down Arthur’s shoulders. “It does suit you… I’m so happy you wore it for me, _mon amour_.”

“You keep saying something in another language every now and then,” Arthur grumbled, but there was curiosity in his voice that was far removed from the irritation Arthur loved to display. Francis smiled against the nape of Arthur’s neck as he pulled the dress down until his hands found the bare skin of the small of Arthur’s back.

“Do you want to know what I’m saying, then?” Francis murmured, his heart leaping again dangerously. Out of fear, perhaps – Arthur was no believer in the kind of love Francis found himself tormented by.

“If you want to share,” Arthur said. His attempt at feigning disinterest was poor indeed, since Francis could see Arthur peering at him with those eyes of his, curiosity glinting in them.

“Ah, you might not like it,” Francis mused, pressing a kiss on Arthur’s neck to distract himself. The sweltering heat of his clothes was nothing compared to the burning worry in his heart as he contemplated how to go about this. Arthur hadn’t taken the hint in the garden, after all—

“My love,” he ended up saying against the curve between Arthur’s neck and shoulder. “ _Mon amour_ means ‘my love’.”

Arthur’s shoulders stiffened, as Francis had expected. “Francis—“

“ _Mon amour_ ,” Francis repeated, the emotion so very obvious in the quivering syllables. “I do love you, Arthur.”

“Is that what you—“

“Love at first sight,” Francis said, nuzzling his nose against Arthur’s neck when the other didn’t pull away in disgust like Francis had feared. “ _Lust_ , you may call it that, but there’s so much more than your body that I took notice of, my love, _mon ange_ , my angel.”

“It’s been a little over a _month_ , Francis.” Arthur didn’t sound mad, at least. There was something resigned in his tone that Francis could not understand, and it made him wrinkle his brows. He hadn’t upset the queen again, had he?

“I know,” Francis sighed as he leaned back and withdrew his hands to give Arthur space to himself. “You have been a frequent visitor in my most private thoughts; the thought of meeting you has brightened my moods several times in the past few days. It is not the sex that makes me feel that way, _oui_ , it is simply you.”

Arthur turned his body slightly, this time meeting Francis’ eyes with his wide green ones. Like jewels, Francis thought not for the first time.

Half-undressed from the dress and with a matching-coloured corset shaping his midriff, Arthur was a hot mess, and Francis’ groin certainly appreciated it.

“The little details you would slip into your letters,” Francis continued, scared that Arthur would reject him if he shut up now, “were endearing and made me feel like there was no distance between you and I at all. And while this may sound like, ah, an obsessed man would say, I truly do adore you and the little quirks you have.”

Francis took a breath, running a hand through his freed hair. “ _Oui_ , perhaps I am mad, for confessing to a crime of unreasonable love.”

Arthur’s eyes widened further, and Francis now recognized the flickering fear behind them. “…Arthur?”

“Don’t,” Arthur said, frowning at him. It was not an exasperated expression nor was it a sad one. For a moment, it looked completely blank, like it was put on out of habit. “Don’t get love involved where it has no room to exist, Francis.”

“Where there is no room,” Francis said, “the weed finds a way to flourish regardless.”

“Did you just compare your love for me to a _weed_?” Arthur snorted in disbelief, although he sounded shaky and unsure like he couldn’t believe this moment was real.

“Well, both are rather difficult things to get rid of, _non_?” Francis winked at Arthur, fingers loosening the cravat around his throat as it felt suffocating there. “Love, no matter how fast it grows, is a difficult thing to kill, don’t you know?”

“When you say it like that, it almost sounds like you believe the rubbish that’s coming out of your mouth.” Arthur’s eyes bore into him, as if trying to gauge his soul. “The only _love_ we’re supposed to have goes to our spouses and kingdoms—“

“—and yet we do not hold that kind of love,” Francis retorted, but sighed soon after in surrender. “I would rather not go into the logistics of love’s mysterious ways right now. It’s a rather solemn subject, no?”

Arthur shrugged as he stood up from the mattress. Francis looked up in worry, terrified at the thought of Arthur running out on him—

Instead of leaving, Arthur wiggled his fine derriere out from his dress. “Help me out from the corset, Francis.”

Arthur didn’t look at him, but Francis could sense his embarrassment that probably had very little to do with how sexual the situation was.

Intimacy could be just as scary as love itself to some, after all; it in itself required some admittance that there was something that existed between the two.

Francis pulled Arthur down onto the mattress.

“Sitting would be easier,” he murmured in explanation, fingers already working on the laces of the orange-yellow corset. _That_ Francis had not sent to Arthur, so it meant that Arthur had had someone purchase it for him.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly as Francis’ fingers expertly worked on the remaining piece of garment, asides from Arthur’s briefs.

“Mm?” Francis hummed, getting caught in the refreshing forest-like scent that oozed from Arthur. Perhaps very scarcely administered perfume, perhaps Arthur’s own scent.

“I can’t say that I return the,” Arthur said quietly, “ _feeling_ you speak of. Are you still alright with it if—“

“I don’t mind,” Francis interrupted him, planting a kiss on Arthur’s shoulders as he threw the corset away before his hands rushed to feel Arthur’s abdomen. “I want to continue this. I think you do, too.”

To emphasize his point, Francis’ hand went to cup Arthur’s groin. The erection that greeted him there brought a smile to Francis’ face. At least this part of Arthur was unashamed to admit to wanting him.

Pulling Arthur back completely onto the mattress, Francis climbed over him before making sure one last time, “You _do_ still want this, right?”

His talk about love might have put Arthur off, seeing how awkward the man seemed to be about the subject all of a sudden. Not that Francis could blame him entirely; love was a subject both tender and cruel, the best dream and the worst nightmare dressed in same clothes.

“Mm,” Arthur’s eyelids had drooped low over the emerald irises, and his hands had risen to tug at Francis’ clothes. “I would say so if I didn’t.”

“You know we don’t need to do it just because we won’t see each other for a while after these days pass, right?”

Arthur scoffed, the hint of hurt obvious in his tone. “Do _you_ still want this? It’s starting to sound like you don’t.”

Francis pressed himself fully against Arthur, not mindful of the hands now squeezed between their chests as he kissed Arthur with the confusing mixture of desire and love that boiled in his heart. Hard and insistent, a lot more desperate than Francis should have allowed himself to be.

Taken aback, Arthur gasped loudly into the kiss, the sound muffled by Francis’ lips.

How many times had he already kissed Arthur tonight? He had lost count, but he knew it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough, he thought as he broke this one and stared at the flushed face and the writhing body beneath his.

“Yes, I still want you,” he affirmed in a low, husky tone. That grabbed Arthur’s attention, emerald eyes fluttering open into an unblinking stare.

“In all the ways,” Francis whispered, touching Arthur’s face with his hand. Curiously, Arthur leaned into the touch as though he had yearned for it.

“So bloody cheesy,” Arthur muttered, the softness in his eyes betraying the harshness of his words. Francis could not help but stare at the almost tender expression that crossed Arthur’s face just after the cotton-soft feeling had lit the depths of shimmering green up.

“Always for you, my love,” Francis said.

Arthur sighed, the tenderness gone as soon as it had appeared. “Will you start undressing already, you twit? I don’t intend to wait for you all night.”

“Well, if you insist on putting on a show for me in the event that I don’t take them off—“

“Dream on,” Arthur spat, and Francis was glad he had cast the cravat off some time ago already. Arthur might have used it to choke him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, I just have to thank you all for your amazing feedback :) Green Eyes in particular has been very supportive all this time, and I'm honestly touched by it.
> 
> thank you so, so much!


	14. ace of diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio was smarter than he looked, Arthur had to give him that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yyyyikes, it took me an eternity to update this! first it was because i somehow !!!!! lost the entire file where i had this fic!!!!! so I had to rewrite this chapter completely. It's not a bad thing because the initial version of it was going to be simple smut for about 5k words, whereas now you get............ plotless introspection for 3k........ sweats
> 
> But anyway, a lot happened between that and now in real life as well, so it took me some time to recover to actually continue this. (I don't want to go into too many details, but a family member died, and you know how that goes...)

Elizaveta was a good person. Sometimes. As good a person as any person in charge of an entire country ridden with corruption could possibly be – and that was to say, she _was_ quite a good person at heart, though her morals might be seen to be as corrupted as those of her countrymen since she loved a man that was not her husband.

Regardless of _that_ , however, she thought herself as someone that was discreet and polite enough for the courts of the world. Sure, she did not like dresses much and she could stand to be a better dancer, but those were superficial flaws if anything.

But she was not one to _spy_ or even eavesdrop on others.

So when she happened to hear the sounds of her husband and the King of Spades coming from the half-open balcony doors, she could not explain why she lingered behind the curtains instead of walking straight to them.

It was the morning after the first night of the ball – or afternoon, rather, and Elizaveta was back wearing slacks and a simple shirt for the time being.

And there she was, listening in on Alfred and Ivan’s conversation. It had started out normally – well, rather it had _been_ normal when she had come by them – but it was now taking an unexpected direction that made Elizaveta mouth fall open in surprise. _Undignified,_ Roderich would call her expression.

“About last night—“ That was how everything started to go downhill, and exactly what made Elizaveta halt her steps and throw away her hesitation. She was not immune to gossip, and _this_ sounded like a storm in the making. Not to mention Ivan sounded oddly subdued, as close to being hungover as he ever was.

Alfred, whose voice was rougher than Elizaveta remembered from the previous night, cut him off. “We will not talk about that.”

“You remember, then?”

“After shoving my tongue down your throat? _That_ is something that can’t be forgotten so easily, man.”

Ivan’s laughter was soft, and it reminded Elizaveta of the first days of their marriage, when Ivan had been younger and more optimistic for the future, less burdened by the problems of their monarchy. But, oh, how the years changed a person! Optimism changed to a negativity barely hidden under a ghastly smile, and soft hands gripped the royal sword more often than not as revolts drew nearer to the capital.

They had been quelled, but Ivan—

Elizaveta gripped the curtains harder, still keeping herself hidden from the two men on the balcony where the sun shone its brightest light.

Now this, _this_ she could not miss out on.

She was a good person, she reassured herself once more. She didn’t usually do this – but, ah, the gossip!

*

Arthur had found his way into one of the libraries up on the third – well, _second_ to him, because the ground floor really should not count – floor. Surprisingly, he was alone, Francis having gone to a short ride since _his_ lower back didn’t feel like it was on fire.

The blasted arse had even smirked when he had noticed Arthur’s situation, winking and suggesting a ‘massage’. Yeah, because _that_ would end _so well_ …

The library held mostly fictional stories -- other genres in other parts of the castle, Arthur thought as he ran his fingers over the backs of the books that caught his eye. It didn’t seem like Francis spent much time reading novels, but the collection was impressive regardless – a legacy from the past rulers, Arthur knew as he eyed the publication dates on a few of them.

There were plenty of love stories amongst the novels Arthur grabbed, as well as the few least trashy-looking mystery novels. Both were Arthur’s secret guilty pleasures that he liked to indulge himself with from time to time when Alfred wasn’t near to bother him and he had time between signing documents of not great importance.

Sitting on a wide window sill, Arthur was reading one of the love novels at a comfortable pace throughout the early hours of the day post-breakfast. The silence common to all libraries eased his nerves as well as the world of the story he immersed himself in, biting at his lip on occasion when the secondhand embarrassment grew.

He would claim aloud that he did not care for these types of novels, that they were far from the height of the literature he enjoyed, but there was an aspect of drama that kept pulling him in regardless. Drama, while not enjoyable in real life, was delectable in fiction. Arthur was not immune to this.

The view from the window was of the courtyard, filled with life and business as well as rose bushes. Mostly of the orange kind, unsurprisingly.

Arthur resumed his reading in silence, flipping pages occasionally. The main character was a compelling, strong female, and Arthur could only hope she wouldn’t be reduced to a damsel in distress later on. He had read his fair share of those types of stories, and most of them ended up catering to the macho man’s fantasy of hypermasculinity and protecting “the weak”, or “women” as the case tended to be.

Elizabeth, the heroine of the novel, hopefully wouldn’t suffer the same fate as countless other characters Arthur had taken a liking to. Strong-willed and smart, Elizabeth embodied the virtues Arthur appreciated in a person. Gentleness didn’t come easy to her, but she wasn’t intentionally cruel even though she had a strong argumentative streak.

The male lead, the obvious love interest to Elizabeth, was an infuriating man, and Arthur clutched at the edges of the book harder as Elizabeth interacted with the said idiot on page.

 _You could do better, Elizabeth, you could do better,_ he thought as the smug arse named Jean hit on her. At her workplace. As she fixed another person’s shoes.

It wasn’t a situation similar to his, but Arthur still related to Elizabeth a lot. There was _something_ about Robert that made him think about Francis. Perhaps it was the description of how overdressed Robert was, perhaps it was Robert’s manner of speech, which was rather pretentiously sweet and overdramatic as hell.

Not to mention Robert’s manner of… making love, as the novel claimed, was eerily similar to how Arthur felt Francis’ was.

Calling it that, however, was silly. Arthur hadn’t known Francis for long, and most of their interactions had happened via pigeon correspondence.

Speaking of Francis, however… Arthur pursed his lips as his face heated up, the skin tingling as he distinctly recalled what Francis had said the previous night. After all the dancing and all the idiocy, inside Francis’ chamber, the fool had had the gall to look at him so tenderly and say that he loved him.

Love at first sight, Francis had said, the tone of his voice serious like he meant it. Arthur couldn’t know for sure, though; people were deceiving, and surely someone like Francis was capable of acting to that degree. There was some pleasure to be found in lies, for sure, but having such a surreal thing be told right to his face didn’t settle well with Arthur.

There was, usually, a lot more than one or two casual hook-ups before anyone could even speak of _love._ He was a believer in the concept of love itself, despite everything, but… Arthur bit at his lower lip, cheeks flushing more as he recalled Francis’ face and the sparkles in the blue eyes. An earnest chap, Arthur would have thought if he didn’t know Francis well enough at that point.

It was difficult to focus on the story after his mind had travelled to Francis, and Arthur sighed as he repositioned himself, his lower back still in pain.

He didn’t _hate_ Francis, of course, but… what exactly did he feel towards him, then?

Arthur was startled, when the door to the library opened with a loud creak. Servants had failed to oil the hinges, it seemed, and now the door gave off a loud sound whenever people entered the room.

Arthur turned his gaze towards the door, which was directly opposite to the window. The bookshelves were deeper in the room, as were the desks and chairs. There was another window in the western side of the room, but Arthur preferred his reading space to be, well, spacious.

The person that came in wasn’t Francis. Good, Arthut thought, but at the same time he deflated a little as he had perhaps been wanting to sneak a chance to challenge Francis’ words yet again.

The man was tall, his skin dark, and he looked familiar. Arthur struggled as he searched for the name to connect the relaxed face to. …Toni? Antonio? Ah, yes, the Ace of Diamonds, wasn’t it?

Antonio paused as he noticed Arthur on the windowsill, brows scrunching up in befuddlement. “Who—Ah! Arthur, right?”

Now that he wasn’t wearing the royal colours of his kingdom, Antonio looked fairly normal. Down-to-earth, Arthur supposed, was one word for it. And yet he wasn’t unpleasant to look at, even though Antonio’s appearance suggested peasant rather than royalty. Perhaps it was his earth-brown hair, or the eyes that reflected the colour of forests, only a little different from Arthur’s.

His clothes were casual, but the fabrics were still far more expensive than the normal folk could possibly afford to use.

Perhaps it was Antonio himself, then.

“Yes,” Arthur answered belatedly, casting one last glance at the pages he had open on his lap. Bye, Elizabeth; bye, Robert. Bye, fantastically fictive and equally marvelous sex scenes. “Ace of Diamonds, right?”

“Just Antonio’s fine,” Antonio laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head as though the use of such official title embarrassed him. “I was looking for Lovi, uh… that is to say, the Ace of Hearts? Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t seen him,” Arthur said, raising an eyebrow at Antonio. “Why are you looking for him?”

“I think I made him mad,” Antonio said, laughing nervously as he kept rubbing at the side of his head, fingers digging into his tousled up hair. “I wanted to apologize, but he’s very fast when he’s angry with me, haha…”

“I see.” Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. He had enough relationship problems as it was, and he certainly didn’t want to hear about others’ on top of all that. “Good luck, I suppose…”

Antonio didn’t go away like Arthur had thought he would. Instead, he cocked his head and observed Arthur for a moment, an unnerving silence settling between them.

“You know,” Antonio said after the moment passed, his hand finally away from his head, “Francis talks about you a lot.”

“What,” Arthur blurted out before he could even fully process Antonio’s words. He swallowed, managing to muster an unconvincing, confused expression on his face. “What—why? We’ve only met once before yesterday.”

“You must have made quite the impression,” Antonio grinned as he came over to Arthur, the distance between them now much shorter than before. Even though the first impression Antion gave was goofy, Arthur could see intelligence lurking behind the green of his eyes.

Shit. _Shit_. Arthur was going to kill Francis.

“Perhaps your king is an idiot,” Arthur said contemplatively, stroking at the pages of the book on his lap as he sweated internally like a pig. “He does seem like an airhead.”

“Haha, he would be sad to hear that from you, I think.” Antonio’s smile widened, and Arthur had to admit he was rather dashing whenever he did that. Asides from, well, his own case of goofiness. “He just got back, by the way. If you want to see him before lunch.”

Arthur’s heart leaped very predictably at Antonio’s words, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he frowned at Antonio. “Why would I—“

“You don’t want to see him?” Antonio’s turn to raise his eyebrows, and he did so with genuine feeling of confusion. “That’s weird, I thought you two had a thing for each other.”

Arthur’s insides churned painfully, his heart throwing a theatrical tantrum by skipping a beat for what felt like a horrifically long second. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ace—er, Antonio. Like he and I would even have anything in common outside the ballroom.”

Except the flowers. And perhaps the loveless marriages they were both in, more or less content with their lives but still missing _something_ that would make them truly happy.

There might even be more, if Arthur really gave the thought enough consideration.

He couldn’t dodge the inevitable truth that he enjoyed Francis’ company, as well. Asides the bone-melting sex, Francis wasn’t completely useless when it came to engaging Arthur in a meaningful – or not – conversation.

Antonio hummed, leaning against the wall besides the window. Arthur pulled his legs up in reaction, a scowl settling over his face as he glared at the other. Antonio’s easy, relaxing smile was off-putting, but it was hard to stay mad at that face. Arthur managed, though. Obviously Lovino did too. Or perhaps Lovino had run off because he would forgive Antonio too fast if he saw that easygoing face,

“I saw the way you danced with Francis, though.”

“And?” Arthur’s scowl deepened at the reminder of Francis’ hands on him. Completely proper, except Francis made it _feel_ improper all the time. “I see no real issue here.”

“Oh, it’s not an issue, really!” Antonio’s laughter was bubbly and warm like a summer’s day. “But there’s a lot I can tell from the way people dance, Arthur, and you two – ah, you two…”

Antonio paused, obviously teasing Arthur and trying to provoke a reaction from him. Arthur inhaled. Good luck with that, Ace of Diamonds.

“What _about_ him and I?” Arthur grunted, tugging the book to cover his face as he tried to resume reading. The heat on his face must have been somewhat visible by now.

“You have _passion_ ,” Antonio said slowly, making a vague gesture with one of his hands. It was probably supposed to mean something, but Arthur didn’t see any meaning in it.

“For dancing,” Arthur said dryly, definitely not thinking about the other kind of passion that Francis had plenty of and which had already started to corrupt Arthur as well, as the back pain attested. “I don’t see your point saying all this, Antonio.”

“You don’t have to,” Antonio dismissed his words just like that. “Take it as me rambling about silly stuff. I really mean it though; it’s easy to see when you’re together that… something is set right? Like that’s how you two are supposed to be.”

“How much have you been watching?” Arthur wondered, glancing at Antonio from the corner of his eye.

“I watched a couple dances last night,” Antonio admitted. “I haven’t seen Francis that enraptured for a while, so it was… pretty weird.”

“Enraptured,” Arthur repeated dully. Francis’ words – something like _I really do love you_ – and pet names came up in his mind, the memories strong and persistent enough to stay even when Arthur didn’t want them to.

“Enraptured,” Antonio confirmed. “But anyway, I guess I better continue looking for Lovi before he gets more upset with me. You should see Francis too, yes?”

Arthur puffed his cheeks. “I… might. Good luck with your endeavors, Antonio.”

“Thanks!” Antonio pushed himself off the wall. Before he left, he leaned over to ruffle Arthur’s already messed up hair. “As I thought, you’re not as grumpy as you look. Just like Lovi.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean—“

Antonio, to his credit, had fast legs, and he was already gone by the time Arthur finished his sentence.

*

Ivan’s hand was warm on top of Alfred’s, and the gesture was meant to be soothing, but all it did was put Alfred even more on the edge despite the beautiful scenery that opened up before them.

“Look, Ivan,” he said as he racked his brain for something coherent. It was difficult, and he came up empty-handed. What could he say? He had obeyed his body’s desires last night and kissed Ivan hard on the mouth, eventually evolving into a tongue-on-tongue action.

It was pretty hot, alright. Yao had never cared for those types of kisses, and Alfred had never even thought of trying anything with Arthur, so Ivan had been the first.

“Mm?” Ivan hummed.

“Your fingers are freezing cold, dude,” Alfred blurted out, because that was honestly the first thing that came to his mind that _wasn’t_ about the kiss and wasn’t anything like “you’re pretty attractive, I just noticed”.

Ivan’s laughter, surprisingly deep considering how he usually spoke, was pleasant and contagious, although also a little intimidating. “Alfred, has anyone ever told you you’re a very silly person?”

“Arthur, about seven hundred and seventy-six times,” Alfred groaned. “Maybe it’s in the thousands now, I don’t know.”

“Sounds like he has known you for a long time,” Ivan said. “How long have you been married?”

“Uh, gimme a moment…” Alfred started counting with his fingers. “I turned 19 some time ago… Maybe half a year now? It was an early spring wedding, I think.”

“You _think_?”

“Hey, not everyone has photographic memory!”

Neither of them noticed the suspicious way the curtains behind the half-open windows shifted with the eavesdropper’s movements.

“You are rather amusing,” Ivan said at length, slowly as if he was calculating something. “Alfred, I am glad to have made your acquaintance… as well as your lips’, of course.”

Alfred wasn’t easy to embarrass, but damn… “Ivan, are you ever going to shut up about that? I was freaking tipsy.”

“It’s mistakes of others that we like to laugh at the most, isn’t that right?” Ivan’s violet eyes glimmered as the sun highlighted their beauty, and Alfred scoffed, somewhat stunned by the sight.

Shiiiit.

“Who said it was a mistake?” he challenged.

“You implied it just now, didn’t you?” Ivan blinked, confused. “Or am I wrong?”

“You are,” Alfred said. “I still would kiss you. ‘Cause it was fun the first time – don’t get me wrong, Ivan.”

Ivan laughed some more, his hand squeezing Alfred’s. “You truly are a fearless creature, Alfred Jones. If there’s one thing I respect about you, it’s that.”

“Did you just insult me?” Alfred’s voice grew in volume, but Ivan simply snickered behind the hand that wasn’t holding Alfred’s. What an asshole – an insufferable ass, as Arthur would put it – but at least he had good looks.

“If that’s how you want to take it,” Ivan said, still laughing, and this time Alfred didn’t waste any time punching the asshole in the face.

With his lips.

He wasn’t _that_ violent, okay?


	15. two pairs

Francis was, at heart, a man of simple desires, which was surprising since he seemed anything _but_ simple. The physique of a lover, the tongue of a charmer, and the clothes of a true aristocrat were all at war with what Francis quietly, deep inside his heart, yearned for.

Love wasn’t an extravagant business, he thought. Love was a lot like growth and simplicity put together, a little like a soon-blossoming rose.

He thought about it this throughout his short morning ride with his loyal stallion, whose steps rocked him gently back and forth on the horse’s back. A sweet lullaby to his buttocks it was not, but for a firm butt one must suffer. It was another example of the simple things in life that Francis appreciated: a sweet ass.

He had never _not_ claimed to be an ass man, mind you. There was a pleasing aesthetic in the firmness of buttocks, an even better feeling underneath palms.

Ah… but now he was getting distracted. Love for another’s soul was inherently different from the love of physical aspects.

Musing this over his short ride through his usual route through the open meadows a little ways south from the castle, Francis couldn’t help but attach Arthur to this train of thought as well. And with Arthur came back the memories of the previous night, some of which were physically far more pleasant to reminisce than others.

Francis’ confession was one of the less pleasant ones. As a man of _romance_ , it was embarrassing that he had simply come out and said it without any finesse, without any proper romantic build-up.

Jean, his loyal stallion and friend, sped into a trot with little encouragement from Francis, hooves digging into the soft soil in every other step.

“That’s a good boy,” Francis crooned, clapping at Jean’s side gently before straightening himself fully so that he would not fall off by accident. The meadow was slowly turning into a sparsely tree-populated forest, the foliage beneath them soft and damp from a rain shower earlier in the morning.

Rain drops still fell from the leaves they had clung onto, and some found their way into Francis’ hair, tied-up with an old ribbon, a keepsake from a past lover that Francis nowadays thought with more fondness than sadness. But past was past, and there it also belonged.

Francis eased back into the memory of his confession, lips curling in distaste as he grimaced. Too desperate, he thought, too affectionate and too soon. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Perhaps the wine had helped that decision. Perhaps it had been the burn of the infatuation with Arthur, the result of beginnings of a love sickness.

It wasn’t false, however. It was the honeyed first emotion of adoration, but it felt like love. Twenty-six-year-old man perhaps shouldn’t be the one saying this, as he _should_ be more mature than this – if not for himself, then for his country.

Francis laughed at himself. Who was he to fight this feeling? Arthur undoubtedly would fight it. He certainly had been awkward enough in the morning when they had woken in each other’s embrace. Flustered and angry at himself rather than Francis, Arthur had escaped from his grasp after stealing some casual clothes to wear for breakfast.

Arthur’s neck had been terribly red.

Francis wished Arthur and he would find the time to be alone, but with all the royals around, it seemed like a difficult task. Keeping his hands to himself at least would be a trying mission.

Jean’s snort startled Francis away from his Arthur-centered reverie – ah, his mind could be so easily distracted sometimes, how silly of him – and brought him back to reality.

“Let’s get back,” Francis crooned, pressing his heels against the stallion’s sides encouragingly. “An extra carrot for you today, _mon cher_.”

Jean snorted again, so much more enthusiastic than one might expect from a horse.

He hadn’t been named after Jeanne for nothing.

*

Lili was waiting for him by the stables when he returned, standing in the sidelines but glowing softly like the pure petals of a daisy under flourishing sunlight. If there was a person befitting a flower simile, then it was Lili, and Francis definitely had announced that to her before. Lili had laughed at him, her lips quirking up and her brows wrinkling from the confused giggles.

She was a stabilizing companion, to say the least. Easy to come back to after an affair gone wrong. As morally corrupted as it was, Francis didn’t think he could stop at this point.

At the very least, she didn’t love him as anything more than a friend.

“How was your ride today?” she asked politely as he climbed down from the saddle, already handing the reins to one of the stable boys that had scrambled out from the wooden building in a hurry.

“Give him an extra carrot, would you, my dear,” Francis told the boy – who was, in actuality, not even a year younger than Francis. “Jean deserves it.”

Lil took him by his arm when he turned away from the stables, and now Francis gave her the answer she was patiently waiting for. “The same as always, my dear Queen. It was rather… wet, though. Unpleasant for Jean. You know how he is very nitpicky about the soil.”

“That sounds more like you,” Lili told him evenly as his fingers pressed at her elbow gently. “You missed the first round of gossip by going out, I’m afraid. Perhaps brother will fill you in later.”

“Gossip?” The bounce in Francis’ steps calmed down noticeably. “ _Mon Dieu_ , how could I miss it? Why did no one say anything before I left? I would have postponed…”

“You are a little moody when you miss your morning ride, Francis,” Lili said evenly as she twisted their linked arms until her hand was the one squeezing at his arm. They began their way back inside like that, linked arms and deep in their casual and usual conversation. “Don’t worry, we will have another round around snack time. You are welcome to join in then, naturally.”

“Will our dear Queen of Spades join us?” Francis wondered out loud. Stereotypical or not, but the gossiping circle tended to center around the Queens and the ones a bit lower in hierarchy, though most Jacks weren’t interested.

Francis could see Arthur drinking tea and participating in conversation cautiously, lips pursed thin before relaxing as the warm tea brightened his mood. Arthur did seem like a tea lover.

Francis inwardly shook himself. He needed to get a grip. Perhaps he should find Gilbert and Antonio and have some heart-to-heart with _them_ instead of torturing himself with anxieties about Arthur.

“I haven’t seen him,” Lili said, not seeming to notice Francis’ inward struggle with himself. “Perhaps if you extend him an invitation, he will.”

“Perhaps,” Francis agreed. “I wonder if his King would be agreeable… He does seem awfully nosy, doesn’t he?”

“Have you even had a real conversation with him, Francis?” Lili raised her delicate eyebrows at him, her mouth curving up in badly veiled amusement. “He’s not any younger than me. I think he might even be older.”

“I have heard him _speak_ ,” Francis argued as he opened a door for Lili, letting go of her arm in the process. It was a nice, sunny day outside, but lunch wouldn’t wait for them forever, royalty or not. “Is that not enough, _ma cherie?”_

“Give him a chance, will you?” Lili smacked her lips together, tutting at him as her eyes admonished him. She had come a long way from the stuttering fiancée from not even a year ago. Francis’ smile turned more tender as he looked at her, the soft sleeves of her dress slid up to reveal her arms and the peach pink skin. 

“I will try for you, Lili,” he sighed, “only for you.”

It was strange how a person could detest lying so much and yet lie through his teeth to the whole world if he had to.

*

He came across Arthur by accident after departing from Lili, who was going to catch up with her friends from Elizaveta’s kingdom.

Or, rather – he came across _Antonio_ by accident. Antonio, his ever dearest Ace and one of the two best friends Francis had. Gilbert was a wandering soul, so he didn’t come by often, but Antonio at least had settled in the Kingdom of Diamonds after Francis had pleaded.

Francis had been on his way back to his chambers to change into another outfit – as his current one was rather sweaty and thus unusable – when he had run into his friend, who wore a strange half-frown-half-smile  as he absently looked around for something or someone. Undoubtedly for the feisty little Lovino, who had the temper of an angry hedgehog.

Antonio’s expression lit up momentarily when he saw Francis, an honest reaction that made Francis smile in return.

“Looking for the Hearts’ little Ace, are you?” Francis grinned knowingly. Antonio and his woes with love were comedic at best, tragic at worst; luckily most of the time it was the comedic route that Antonio’s stormy affair took to.

“He’s rather fast when he gets irritated,” Antonio smiled awkwardly, rubbing at the side of his neck sheepishly. “He wouldn’t have run down to the market in town, would he…? They’re not selling tomatoes out there at this time of year anymore…”

“Have you tried the kitchens yet?” Francis smiled indulgingly, patting Antonio’s shoulder. “He’s a bit bratty, so he might be trying to steal some food again.”

“Lovi’s not—“ Antonio started, but he quieted down under Francis’ unimpressed stare. “Perhaps he is, but he is—I—“

“It’s adorable how flustered you get about him sometimes,” Francis teased, winking at his flustered friend. Antonio didn’t fluster easily, but right now he was as embarrassed as any young man experiencing their first love. “Really, my friend, you should try the kitchens.”

“I will, I will,” Antonio sighed, a bright smile returning to his face. “Oh, and Francis – the Queen you’re infatuated with is in the library.”

“Lili’s downstairs doing embroidery with Elizaveta.”

“I didn’t mean Lili Zwingli,” Antonio said with an exaggerated wink that would have embarrassed anyone else but Francis, who was very much used to Antonio teasing him back. “I’ll be off, then! See you at lunch, you rascal.”

“You’re one to talk! I don’t swing an axe quite like you,” Francis laughed as they separated and went to different directions – Francis higher and Antonio lower in the castle floors.

Francis knew who Antonio meant, of course. He might have talked about Arthur a little too enthusiastically in the past month he had been separated from Arthur. While buried under a load of legislative work, Francis had blabbed a lot. Perhaps too much, now that he thought about it, but there were no secrets he could keep from his closest friend.

Secrets were the first seed of destruction in any friendship, and Francis didn’t want an inconsequential thing like that to destroy the trust between them.

…Also, Francis _really_ loved bragging – be it his horse-riding or his people skills. The latter which Francis talked about a lot. (“No, no, they won’t go to war with us. Their Queen has a soft spot for me” being one remarkable example from the past years of Francis’ reign.)

But anyhow, Francis was a little irritated by Antonio’s _vague_ explanation as to where Arthur was. _A_ library. Really, ‘Toni? There were several in just this wing alone, but Francis supposed he could start from the third floor since he was heading there anyway.

Luckily, or unluckily, he found Arthur very quickly. The door farthest from the staircase down to the floor below was the one that led Francis to Arthur, conveniently located near Francis’ chambers.

This library was, basically, the collection of novels that Francis found either erotic, humorous in their stupidity, or _fantastic_ reads. Sometimes a novel hit the perfect balance between all three, but that was unfortunately rare.

Arthur was fiddling with one of the first-mentioned novels – _Once upon a Ride_ , if Francis saw right – when Francis peeked in, a somewhat stiff and anxious air around him as if he was contemplating something. Francis’ attention quickly shifted to the loose white shirt that Arthur wore, the fabric not doing a very good job at hiding Arthur’s skin. Francis could appreciate the sight for many reasons: first, it made Arthur look good, and second, it was _Francis’_ shirt.

“Arthur,” Francis said softly as he let his presence be known with a creak of the door, stepping into the dusty but lovely room. “Here you are.”

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin, the book falling from his hands as he turned fully towards Francis, eyes wide and comically fearful.

It reminded Francis of young rabbits, actually.

“Francis,” Arthur found his voice quickly. A little rough, but not quite as much as in the morning when they had woken up. Awkwardly, Arthur shifted on his feet, green eyes firmly staying on Francis as if they were magnetized to do so.

“You left in a hurry earlier,” Francis said, lips quirking upwards. He didn’t feel as confident as he looked. “I didn’t get a morning kiss, even. Now _that_ is a foul in any good affair.”

Arthur’s lips twitched; that could be either a very bad sign or a relatively good one. Right now Francis wasn’t sure which it was.

“Are you going to _punish_ me, then?” Arthur’s mouth curved up into a smirk, and Francis blinked twice from the surprise.

“Huh?”

“That’s usually what follows a foul, you git.” Arthur rolled his eyes, the smirk on his lips widening. Francis’ face heated up under Arthur’s sharp gaze. “On a more serious note, don’t be a moron, Francis.”

Francis took the few steps required to get within touching distance from Arthur, his stride deliberately careful as he smiled at Arthur’s words. “You have been reading too much erotica here, it seems.”

 Arthur sputtered, his face twisting in embarrassment. “Says the owner of such erotica.”

“It’s a fine pastime activity!” Francis said, sounding perhaps a little too defensive rather than jovial as he had intended. “Authors have such great imaginations, to come up with such… positions.”

“You are just as bad as them, oh gods,” Arthur mumbled as he pinched at the bridge of his nose with a hand not holding onto the book. Francis snickered at the exasperation in Arthur’s tone, recognizing it for what it was: an act, a distraction.

“How so?” Francis snickered, his hand reaching out to the book-holding hand by Arthur’s side. Easing the fingers from the back of the book, Francis gently took it from Arthur, only casting a brief glance at the title. Indeed, _Once upon a Ride_ , the title as promiscuous as its contents.

Arthur huffed at him, hands moving up to Francis’ chest now that both were free. “Do you really want an answer to that question?”

Even those thick eyebrows looked good when the light shone from the right angle, Francis mused as he dropped the book. It hit the floor unceremoniously, a loud thud echoing in the wake of Arthur’s words.

“Perhaps I do,” Francis hummed, leaning forward ever so slightly until the tips of their noses were but a centimeter away from touching. Close enough to see Arthur’s dilated pupils. A grin rose to Francis’ face, and he ran a hand up Arthur’s side. “It’s not like you have complained before, other than… the superficial.”

It wasn’t the first time Francis thought this, but it struck him again as Arthur’s eyes narrowed just as he had expected.

It didn’t feel like they had known each other only for a month or so – this didn’t feel like a fourth or fifth day spent together.

“I’m not complaining now either,” Arthur protested, warm palms rubbing Francis’ chest up until they reached Francis’ broad shoulders. Green eyes peered into Francis’, a speck of cautiousness flickering on and off, and then Arthur cleared his throat, face stiffening again.

Uh oh, Francis thought.

Arthur surprised him, though. Instead of continuing the friendly argument, he pressed in and closed the distance between them. Francis suddenly didn’t have anything witty to say – not that he could say anything with Arthur’s lips covering his mouth, not fitting quite seamlessly but that didn’t make the skin contact any less pleasant.

Francis’ lips twitched into a smile as soon as he recognized what was happening.

Arthur was a lot kinder than his harsh exterior would suggest.

“You need to change your clothes,” Arthur mumbled against his mouth between kissing, sounding disgruntled yet contented at the same time. A strange, contrasting combination. “They’re sweaty.”

“Perhaps you should take them off for me, _mon cher_ ,” Francis whispered back before pressing into another kiss, a harder and longer one that had his hands squeeze at Arthur’s hips. It was too easy to forget they weren’t in private now, even though they were alone.

Arthur’s company was mesmerizing. Arthur’s kisses were addictive, and Francis was already weak for the bodily desires as it was.

Of course it was easy to expand this emotion and label it love.

“My arse hurts from last night,” Arthur grumbled, voice reverberating against Francis’ mouth.

Francis pressed another onslaught of kisses on Arthur’s lips while his hands rubbed at Arthur’s hips, tugging the fluttering fabric of the shirt up before diving for the touch of skin.

“Was I too rough?” Francis laughed giddily as he copped a feel of Arthur’s buttocks. “You should have told me, _mon amour_.”

Arthur scowled as Francis pushed him against the closest wall, right beside the window. “I had other things in mind at that time, git.”

“I’m sure,” Francis said, amused. The earlier anxieties already forgotten now that he was in Arthur’s company. “Like moaning my name… you did that quite a lot, my dear. And you even ended up stealing my clothes before you rushed out of the room in the morning.”

Arthur shut him up with an angry smack of lips against lips and a buck of hips that sent a shudder up Francis’ spine. Arthur was completely unfair, doing that after complaining about the soreness of his ass.

Arthur kissed him hard, surprisingly agreeable in showing his desire for Francis, and one hand tangling in Francis’ ponytail.

Francis sighed, allowed room for Arthur’s tongue as Arthur took the lead. Instead, Francis continued to knead Arthur’s ass with devotion as his hand crept up beneath Arthur’s shirt. (Or, well, _Francis’_ shirt.)

 _I’ll make you moan, too_ seemed to be the intent behind Arthur’s actions now.

That was fine with Francis.

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually managed to get this far: thank you! Every reader and comment is appreciated.


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